


Moving Pictures

by Leizu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Retail, But mostly fluff, Co-workers, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Slash, Slow Burn, alternate universe - cinema
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-06-05 12:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6705055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leizu/pseuds/Leizu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean starts a new job at the local movie theater, hoping to just keep his head down and start earning enough to open a savings account; but things start getting hazier when the in-house café manager turns out to be the most beautiful man he's ever seen.<br/>He's not ready to address his sexuality; but starts to think that if he doesn't, he'll regret it forever.</p><p>Coffee shop AU with a twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nine to Five

Dean watched as his new manager rummaged around in a metal filing cabinet, awkwardly holding the door open. There didn’t seem to be quite enough room in the cupboard for both him and the cabinet, and Mr. Singer had part of his right leg sticking out in an attempt to accommodate this fact.

Mr. Singer tossed a cap from one drawer, then an apron in dusty cellophane, and then continued to open drawers with difficulty- the filing cabinet had seen better days, and the rust slowly creeping its way up the side couldn’t be helping.

“Here,” he said, straightening up and thrusting a couple of plastic-wrapped shirts at Dean, “these seem to be your size. If they don’t fit, you know where the drawer is and you can look through this yourself.” He kicked the filing cabinet.

“I can fix that,” said Dean, eyeing the cabinet. “Rust, I can’t do nothing about; but if the drawers are sticking I can probably make ‘em easier to open.”

Mr. Singer looked him up and down appraisingly, eyebrows raised. Dean hoped this was a sign of being impressed rather than surprise at his quick brown-nosing.

“Huh,” was all he said. He gestured to Dean to follow him into the back office. “We need you to sign your contract, yadda yadda, then you have to do some health and safety bullshit-“

“Oi!” shouted a blond man from a desk in the corner, not bothering to look away from the screen. He seemed to be watching soccer. “Language, Bobby.”

“Hush your mouth, limey, you’re the worst of all of us and you know it.”

“True,” said the man, turning in his chair to face them. “You must be the new recruit. I’m Balthazar, yes my parents really did name me that, no I do not have a nickname, no you may not call me by my surname.” His accent explained why his eyes had been glued to the soccer game: he was British. “I’m in charge of that- what was it? Ah, yes, ‘health and safety bullshit’ at this cinema.” He held out his hand without getting up. Dean walked across the room to shake it. Affable though he may seem, giving a manager lip on your first day was a great way to get yourself fired by the end of your probation.

“Alright, alright, stop flirting and let me get him on the floor as quickly as possible. Ash called in sick- says he has tonsillitis,” said Bobby.

“That’s a word for ‘hungover’ I haven’t heard before,” Balthazar muttered to his monitor.

“Through here,” said Mr. Singer, gesturing to Dean to follow him through another door in the side of the room. Dean knew that the building was pretty old, but that didn’t really explain why there were so many doors all over the place.

They walked a very short way to a room with a concrete floor, a sink, several incredibly old and mismatched chairs, a hanging rail with a few odd shirts, a couple of pairs of formal shoes, and a table which was sagging to one side. It wasn’t the most welcoming atmosphere- neglect permeated the walls and hung heavily in the air. Mr. Singer went to the ancient coffee machine and clicked it on.

“If this thing ever decides to work, you want one?”

“Sure, thanks.” Dean stood near the doorway, swinging his arms and looking around. The back corner housed a dilapidated storage unit, stuffed full of mouldy boxes and retro-looking files. He stared at it, casting around for something to say; eventually settling on, “So, uh. What’s a limey?”

Bobby chuckled. “It’s an old sailor word for a Britisher.” He opened a fridge whose door was slightly lop-sided, looking for milk. “I wouldn’t recommend using it unless you’re sure he likes you. Milk?” he added, looking round. Dean shook his head.

There was a small pile of paperwork waiting for Dean on the table. He went over and started flicking through it. “Uh, Mr. Singer?”

“It’s Bobby. Call me Mr. Singer again and it’ll be the last thing you do here. Mr. Singer was my father, and he was a cantankerous old bastard. I don’t need reminding of him.”

“Sorry. Bobby. What is all this?” He gestured to the paper. “It seems to be an awful long contract.”

Bobby sighed, and the coffee machine clicked off behind him. He poured it into two chipped mugs and set them down on the table, gesturing for Dean to sit.  
“This first part is your contract, then there’s the fire safety procedure, food safety, social media agreement-“

“Wait, what?” Dean looked astonished. “Do I have to give over my facebook password or something, because, uh…”

“Nothing like that, boy. It’s basically just saying don’t go talking bad about the company on the internet. You seem smart enough not to do that, but you gotta sign it anyway.” Bobby took a sip of his coffee, and nearly spat it back out. “Don’t drink that shit, for the love of God.”

“So, where am I going to be working?”

“We’ll start you ushering because it’s the easiest, then you’ll be retail trained. You might work on the box office, but we’re not usually busy enough to bother opening it. The concessions counter also sells tickets. We might put you on the bar if it’s a big opening night, but we’ll cross that bridge if we ever get to it.” Bobby clapped his hands together.

“Right. Let’s get this shit done.”

* * *

 

They spent around half an hour going through all the documents, one of which was an initial training sheet for which Bobby gave him all of the answers. As soon as Dean had signed the last one, Bobby got up.

“Alright then, go put your stuff on and I’ll give you the grand tour. It should be Balthazar showing you around, but hell and high water couldn't drag him away from Queen’s Park Rangers. His soccer team,” he explained, as Dean looked nonplussed.

He led Dean through yet another door, this one leading to a musty corridor which was strangely warm and lined with more doors on the right-hand side. Bobby named each as they passed.

“Kernel storage, oil room, cleaning supplies, poster room…” He opened the only door on the left hand side, gesturing vaguely to the remaining few rooms. “You probably won’t need to go in those. It’s the letters for the canopy, extra toys and promotional shit, and then a room full of broken crap that nobody wants but we ain’t allowed to throw away.” He led Dean out, and he was surprised to learn that they were back at the main staircase. Bobby nodded to a door opposite them. “There’s the locker room. It’s share and share alike so if you’re shy, get dressed behind the curtain. Pick a locker and write your name on the label. No label, then it ain’t your stuff no more. I’ll meet you upstairs in the lobby.”

A minute or so later, Dean ascended the stairs, new cap, apron, and shirt on. The material was cheap and a little itchy, and it had been folded inside the plastic for so long that it wasn’t very forgiving. He ran his hands up the marble balustrade, smiling a little to himself. He’d done his homework for the interview, and he knew that this building was almost ninety years old. On his way to meet Bobby, he passed another marble staircase, noticing the faded red carpeting on it. The walls were, inexplicably, painted purple, and the paint was cracked and broken over the majority of it. Having lived in his fair share of crappy apartments, Dean looked up to find the source of the leak. Sure enough, the intricate plaster decoration at the top of the wall had swollen from taking on water over the years. Clearly, this was why customers had no access to this staircase. No, guests, he corrected himself, thinking irresistibly of Beauty and the Beast and resolving to tell Sammy when he got home that his new workplace only had guests. Going through two final doors, which were almost on top of each other, he found himself in the lobby again.

It was decorated in a bland, inoffensive manner. The walls and ceilings were white, with brand-standard-font letters telling you where you could buy your snacks, find ice cream, and get to the screens. The floor was a fairly cheap fake-wood lino, and there was a self-service popcorn island in the middle of the floor. There was an oval-shaped area with two tills set into it for which he could not quite fathom the purpose- the box office was outside. The retail area had two more tills, with most of the space on the back counter taken up with a large nacho warmer and a popcorn maker. The doors leading outside were glass, and whichever genius had designed the set-up had decided that it would be best if the staff on retail wouldn’t be able to see outside; and that they would have their backs to any customer who walked in. They could, however, see the pick and mix stand and the hanging bags of sweets, which was clearly far more valuable.

Bobby was leaning against the glass-fronted counter, inside which various boxed candies were arranged.

He was talking to a young, blonde woman, her long hair sticking out of the back of the cap she was wearing. She had a nice face, Dean thought; was it Roald Dahl who had said that you could always tell when someone was a nice person? She looked up at he walked towards them, smiling kindly. She nodded in his direction, asking, “This the new recruit?” Bobby turned.

“Good, you’re here,” he said, handing over a radio and a sheet of paper. “Stick your radio on your belt, but leave it off as we’re going in the screens; and that paper is your timesheet. It tells you what’s on, where, and when. Someone asks what the film is about, give them the summary sheet and tell ‘em to come back when they’ve decided, you ain’t got time to explain them all. Come on.”

He led Dean to the right of the lobby, towards a marble staircase identical to the one on the other side, but in considerably better condition- and not purple.

“Girls’ bathroom is here. You will spend half your time telling people that. Screens one to three are up this way. Screen three is on the third floor, screens one and two are second. One is the biggest, two is the smallest.” They reached the top of the first flight of stairs, and Dean started to go up the right hand side; but Bobby stopped him, saying, “Ain’t nothing up that way but the stock room, so always go left.” At the top of the second flight, they went right. There was another lobby here, but it was much smaller. Bobby pointed out the toilets, the function room (what its ‘function’ was he was unclear about), then led Dean to screen one.

Having visited the first three screens, Bobby rushed him through the other three- these were accessed from the back of the lobby- and took him through to the coffee shop attached.

“Right,” he said, turning to Dean at last, “any questions?”

“Yeah. Why are there so many doors in this place?”

Bobby chuckled a little. “This place is a patchwork. It’s been updated roughly once every twenty years since it opened, and every update adds shit. It started with one screen, then they opened what’s now four and five, then they added six, and finally they added two and three. Instead of doing it proper with a renovation, they just added a little more and cut a hole in an existing wall and stuck a door there. This place is a maze, but you’ll get it eventually. That’s why we make everybody take a radio- we ain’t got time to comb this place for wayward staff, if I want to know where you are I’ll just ask: and I expect a quick reply, got it?” Dean nodded. Bobby gestured around at the coffee shop. “This is a franchise, so all the staff are also cinema staff. Manager likes to keep it separate so you won’t be working here unless he gets desperate. Their dishwasher and store room are all in the cinema foyer, and if they get busy while we’re not, we expect you to help them out. Now,” he said, rubbing his hands together in a business-like manner, “what can I get you?” Dean blinked.

“Get me?”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “I can tolerate that shit in the manager’s rec room because I’m too cheap to buy this stuff on the regular, but it’s your first day and you should at least know how good this coffee is.”

“Alright, thank you Mr. S- Bobby,” Dean corrected himself quickly. “Black Americano, please.” Bobby nodded his approval at this choice. Unsure whether to follow him, Dean hovered in the archway between the cinema and the café. Bobby did not call him over, returning a minute later with a paper cup of black coffee. Dean repeated his thanks, then removed the lid and took a sip. It was excellent.

“Told you that other stuff was shit. Alright, ready to start your first shift?”

* * *

Dean spent the majority of his shift ushering, which mostly involved standing on the door to either one to three or four to six, checking tickets, then cleaning the screens. It was boring, but easy. The young woman on the retail counter was called Jo, and Dean learned that her mother owned a bar down the street. The other girl on retail was called Charlie, had flaming red hair, and was doing her level best to flout the uniform rules without actually breaking them. She had several badges on her apron, wore her cap backwards, and her long-sleeved white t-shirt was clearly visible underneath her short-sleeved work uniform. Her shoes were black, with a violently pink stripe down the side.  
They were both friendly, funny, and hard-working; and spent the majority of the shift making fun of each other, eventually ganging up on Dean when they found that he gave as good as he got.

On his way home, Dean reflected that of all the shitty jobs he’d taken in recent years, this might be one of the better ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I can attest that most of the information here is accurate as to how cinemas work (in the UK, at least) as I worked for a big chain for a while. All the customer stories are going to be taken direct from real life, too; as it's true what they say about truth being stranger than fiction.


	2. Twelve Angry Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Customers need their caffeine.

Dean dragged himself out of bed at seven thirty the next morning, wishing he knew the secret to that great coffee at the movie theater café. He switched on his old coffee machine, then padded through to Sammy’s room to make sure he was up.

Sam was sprawled in his bed, entangled in the sheets, his hair all over his pillow, his feet sticking out of the end. Dean smirked. No rental place had beds large enough for him to fit on anymore. He went over and yanked the covers off, laughing as his brother sat bolt upright and started swearing at him.

Once he’d had a couple of minutes to come round, Sam came into the kitchen, fully dressed. He dragged the cereal towards him, eyeing Dean’s coffee with envy. Dean rolled his eyes, then got up to get a coffee for his brother.

“How was the new job?”

Dean half-glanced over his shoulder as he filled a mug with reasonably warm coffee.

“Seems fine, people are pretty nice. Normal, this time, too.” He set the coffee down on the table and returned to his toast. “Want a ride to school?”

Sam glanced out of the window before responding, “Nah, weather seems pretty good. Thanks.” Dean checked his watch.

“I’d better get going. There’s lasagna in the fridge, I’ll be home around 11.” He messed up Sam’s hair on his way to the door, smiling sadly at how much he’d grown.

* * *

Dean rolled up the heavy metal shutters, dragging his keys out as he did so. He unlocked the door, clicking on the dim light as he walked in. He re-locked the door, looking around to check out the state in which Chuck had left the store the previous day.

Chuck was a writer, considering himself a  _ tortured artiste _ . He’d owned The Crossroads record store for a few years, just about managing to break even by allowing bands to use it as a rehearsal space after hours. Usually they left it in a reasonable state (though with several empty beer bottles scattered around), but occasionally they stole stock or trashed the place. Chuck was always happier to leave it for Dean to clean up when he found it in the morning.

The most recent band, however, had been exemplary. Not only was everything spotless, but they appeared to have tidied up the display tables. They’d even taken out the trash- Dean only knew it had been them because Chuck had never done it. Making a mental note to find out their name and go to one of their gigs, he went into the back room to start setting up to open.

It was another fairly slow day. Although hipsters were bringing vinyl records back into fashion, if it wasn’t for Chuck selling the more valuable records online he’d have gone out of business in the recession. As it stood, he made enough to continue writing, but not enough to pay Dean to work full time. Dean worked eight thirty to three Monday to Thursday, then the occasional Saturday when Chuck was too hungover to work.

At ten past three, Chuck rolled in. Dean had long since given up commenting on Chuck’s timekeeping- he lived in the apartment above the store, but Dean could count on one hand the number of days he’d shown up on time. Chuck didn’t say anything, just nodded vaguely in Dean’s direction, setting down a mug that was probably more whiskey than coffee, and dragging the day’s receipts towards him.

“Someone bought the Gatefold Sleeve Black Sabbath this morning,” Chuck said, his voice sounding, as always, as though he’d woken up mere moments before.

“Cool,” replied Dean, pulling on his leather jacket, “how much?”

“Hundred and sixty. Pretty good, given the condition of the cover.” Chuck dragged out a faded black note book from inside the desk, noting the sale inside. “There’s a garage sale on Sunday that looks pretty promising, too.” Dean nodded, reaching for his bag. They got a lot of their stock from garage and jumble sales- most thrift stores nowadays tended to google records before they put them out for sale in case they were worth something, but people just looking to clear their storage spaces usually sold a whole box of vinyl for $20 without even opening it. They’d never found anything worth more than a couple of hundred, but Chuck was still hoping that one day they’d find something valuable.

“Let me know if you’ll need me this weekend. I started my new job yesterday so it’d be easier if you could let me know in advance.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Chuck, perking up, “You’re at the Wittertainment in Sunset Hills, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Think you could get me in for free someday?”

Dean laughed. “I’ll try.” He hoped that Chuck never tried to take him up on it.

* * *

Dean’s first proper shift didn’t start until four, but he pulled into the parking lot half an hour early. Quite apart from wanting to make a good impression, he’d also been thinking about the delicious coffee from the café. The more he thought about it, the more he thought it was the best he’d ever tasted. Maybe he could persuade the staff to divulge the secret.

The main entrance to the movie theater was on a reasonably busy shopping street, with a wide pavement in front. The cafe had a few tables and chairs outside, with two large umbrellas hovering over them. There were metal and cloth barriers surrounding the furniture, giving the impression of a closed space. Almost all of it was branded with the name Angel Delight. Dean vaguely remembered hearing about the chain of coffee stores moving into the midwest from California- even in Seattle, birthplace of Starbucks, it had started gaining a real hold on the coffee market. He’d never been in one before; but if their coffee was always this good, Dean could see why it was doing so well.

He walked in, smelling coffee grounds and an odd, bitter smell that he couldn’t quite place. He joined the back of the short line, feeling a pang of sympathy for the barista on duty. He was on his own, and was clearly quite overwhelmed by the volume of orders he was dealing with. After getting confused twice with the order of an irritable man in a cheap suit, he pulled out the radio from beneath the counter and called for help. Visibly flustered with the lack of a reply, he made the man’s coffee incorrectly; and upon noticing, stammered an apology which was met only with ire. The woman in between Dean and the angry man rolled her eyes and left the store.

The Suit was yelling at the poor barista about his too-dry cappuccino, reducing him to the brink of tears. Dean was debating whether to intervene or not, when Bobby appeared in the cinema-side entrance.

“Sam,” he said to the now-quivering young man behind the counter, “go take your break. Now.” Sam didn’t need telling twice. He scuttled past Bobby, looking like he was holding himself back from running. Bobby glanced at Dean, jerking his head back to indicate that Dean should make himself scarce. Dean took that to mean that things were about to get ugly. He walked into the cinema, disappointed that he wouldn’t be getting his coffee today.

As he walked in, he saw that Charlie and Jo were on again, both leaning against the swing door into the retail counter, staring intently towards the coffee shop. He went over to them, opened his mouth to speak, but the girls immediately shushed him.

“We’re trying to listen!” Charlie hissed, smiling. Dean raised his eyebrows. Charlie rolled her eyes. He headed downstairs to get changed.

* * *

Bobby stormed through the door towards the managers’ office while Dean was clocking in. He was clearly in a towering temper.

“Everything alright?” Dean asked tentatively, unsure how Bobby was going to react.

“That dick’s been causing problems ever since he opened an office round the corner. This ain’t the first time he’s been awful to staff and it won’t be the last; but our general manager refuses to ban him because of the amount of money he and his employees bring in.” He sighed. “Anywho. You’re on ushering again today, but as it’s gonna be quiet you should ask the girls to show you the till.”

“Sure,” said Dean, picking up a timesheet from the plastic folder which had been glued slightly lopsidedly to the wall, “If there’s usually only one guy on the café then I wouldn’t mind training there to help.”

“I’ll mention it to the AD manager, but they always have two staff in the building. The store manager was in today- you just missed him, actually- but they had a store inspection last week and their score wasn’t as good as he wanted because his supervisor failed, so he was interviewing for a new one.”

Dean nodded vaguely. Privately, he thought that maybe the young man upstairs wasn’t the best person to be left alone when the manager wasn’t available; but he chose not to mention it: instead, he walked around the wood partition to go and fetch a radio.

Bobby had been right about it being quiet. They switched off one of the screens after nobody bought a ticket- though Dean learned that as they were contractually obliged to play films a certain number of times, all they did was turn off the projector to save power. Jo and Charlie showed him how to use the till, where to get stock, where to keep the trash bags between clean-ups, and the most likely places to find Ash, the other usher, when he went AWOL.

Jo invited him to come to her mother’s bar after work, but he declined. He had a day off the next day, and he was hoping to finally have time to practise his guitar. He still hadn’t played a gig yet, though he had recorded videos singing some of his favourite songs; but he was hoping that he’d soon feel ready enough to start performing live. Plus, Dean thought he knew what lay behind the invitation. It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t have been interested- Jo was hot, funny, and seemed as though she’d be cool to hit it and quit it- he’d just seen what could happen if it went wrong when you worked together, and had long since resolved not to shit where he ate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel will appear in the next chapter, promise!


	3. Cinema Paradiso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean comes in to cover at the last minute and gets more than he bargained for...

After dropping Sam off at school, Dean dressed back in his sweats and ratty old t-shirt to get to some guitar playing. He’d gotten as far as tuning up when his phone rang. Frowning, he answered.

“Yeah?”

“This Dean?” It was the blond, British man from the movie theater.

“Yeah, it is. It’s...Balthazar, right?”

“Right. Yeah. Listen, I know it’s short notice but is there any chance you could come open today? Garth and Tessa are off sick and nobody else can cover.”

Dean had to hold in a sigh. He’d been looking forward to his day off, but he really couldn’t afford to pass up the extra cash.

“Sure, I guess. What time do you need me in?”

“Eleven thirty? If you come a bit early I’ll throw in a free coffee.”

Well, how could he say no to that?

* * *

Dean got out of his car with fifteen minutes to spare, heading straight for the cafe. Balthazar had told him to just tell the manager what had happened to claim his free drink, as long as he didn’t order anything with lots of extras. That wasn’t going to be much of a problem- generally, Dean took his coffee black.

There were a few people sitting at the tables in the tiny cafe, but the counter had no line today. A man in a light brown shirt with “MANAGER” written along the back was cleaning the coffee machine. Dean cleared his throat.

When the man turned, Dean had to work to keep his mouth from falling open. The first impression he got was of intensely blue eyes, looking distantly expectant. He blinked. The man’s face was beautiful, ethereal; like something out of a painting.

“Can I help you?” the man asked, raising his eyebrows.

Dean pulled himself together. “Sorry, yeah; can I get a medium black Americano, please? And Balthazar said to tell you-”

“Are you Dean?” the man interrupted, tilting his head slightly to one side at the question.

“I, uh...yeah.” Dean cursed inwardly. His brain had taken a temporary holiday, just when he needed it most.

“He told me what happened. Thanks for coming in, they were talking about stealing my barista for the lunch rush if you couldn’t make it.” He smiled at Dean, then turned to start making the coffee.

Dean was so, so screwed.

Now was about the time he would normally be making small talk- it was only polite, given that he’d be working with this guy from now on- but he couldn’t. He even opened his mouth a couple of times, hoping that natural instinct would kick in and conversation would start; but all he managed to do was impersonate a goldfish. He had thought he’d left this tongue-tied, dumbstruck-in-the-face-of-beauty rubbish behind when he got through puberty. Dean was just contemplating whether asking someone who worked in a coffee shop if they liked coffee was definitely the stupidest thing he could possibly say, when the other man spoke.

“So did you have plans for today?”

Dean blinked.

“Not anymore, I guess.” He looked at the display of biscotti and wafers next to the till, picking one up and pretending he was looking at it; inwardly cursing his vague answer. It made it seem like he didn’t want to talk more.

The manager laughed softly, making Dean snap his gaze to him. He was pouring the espresso he’d just made into a paper cup, then glanced over his shoulder to find Dean looking at him. “Capitalism, right?”

Dean laughed, too. “Yeah. Plus, Balthazar said free coffee and I couldn’t resist.” He felt himself blushing even as the words left his mouth. Was that too flirty? Was it not flirty enough? The guy was a manager, was that grossly inappropriate? The manager smiled, putting a lid on the cup and handing over the coffee.

“I’m glad you approve.”

Dean took the cup, and was about to leave when a thought struck him.

“Sorry, I forgot to ask your name.”

“Oh,” said the other man, his eyes locking with Dean’s, making Dean feel as though there was ice trickling down his spine, “It’s Castiel.”

* * *

Getting changed, Dean was so distracted that he didn’t even notice that his shirt was inside-out until he checked himself in the mirror. He fixed it, nervously smoothing down the material. After carefully re-tying his apron so that it looked as neat as possible, he caught his own eye in the mirror. Suddenly, he realised that what he was doing was ridiculous- almost everything he was wearing had the Wittertainment logo, was shapeless, and still smelled faintly of plastic and the drawer it had been living in for an age. He also remembered his resolution not to date anyone he worked with, and he sighed. The guy was hot, sure; but he didn’t think it was worth the potential fallout.

This did not stop him from checking him out whenever he walked to the dishwasher. Dean couldn’t see the harm in  _ looking _ ; especially not when the other man’s work attire showcased his figure so perfectly. With pants hugging in all the right places and a shirt that was just tight enough to show the underlying muscle definition without being obscene- why, it would have been a crying shame to let that go unnoticed. After the fourth or fifth time of watching Castiel’s back as he walked across the foyer, Dean jumped when Ash spoke.

“I think he’s single.”

Dean started fidgeting with his cap. “I, uh...what?” Ash pointed towards the door marked ‘PRIVATE’.

“The ass you’ve been staring at all day. I think it’s available.”

“I don’t...I mean, I, well,” Dean spluttered. He started opening and closing his mouth, willing a convincing denial to spring forth...but, nothing. Clearly, erudition was not one of his skills this morning.

“Oh, man,” Ash laughed, “If the words you’re looking for are ‘no homo’, then  _ man _ have I got some breaking news for ya-”

“It’s not…” Dean trailed off, sighing. He had only met Ash the day before, and wasn’t prone generally to discussing his feelings. He glanced nervously towards the AD kitchen (as he had learned it was called) before continuing, “I’m just. You know. Window shopping.” Ash raised his eyebrows quizzically. “I’m not looking to buy.”

Ash nodded. “I get it. Just checking out the merchandise.” Dean smiled a little grimly. Ash didn’t pursue the subject, and he was grateful- he was not, as yet, out of the proverbial closet; and had no desire to go through his troubled relationship with his sexuality with a stranger. Hell, if he hadn’t told  _ Sammy _ …

Balthazar created a welcome distraction at that point by appearing with the daily paperwork. He dumped it all unceremoniously on the counter, asked Dean if he knew how to fill it all out, then headed straight back to the office downstairs before Dean had even replied.

Later that morning, Dean was so bored that he took all of the bottled drinks out of the fridge, arranged them by date on the counter island in the middle of the foyer, then pulled out the fridge to clean behind it. There was a clear inch of dust, and some tiny pellets that looked suspiciously like mouse droppings that he decided to pretend he hadn’t seen. A building as old as this- particularly one that wasn’t in the best shape- was bound to have at least a few mice hanging around. He just hoped that they were mice, rather than their bigger, nastier, disease-carrying cousins.

He decided to use the vacuum cleaner rather than attempt to sweep it up- he was bored, sure; but didn’t see the point in making extra work for himself. He came out from the back of the machine, brushed the excess dust from his shirt and apron, then walked around the fridge to go to the AD kitchen- straight into Castiel.

The tray Castiel had been carrying had been piled with clean plates and a few of the tall latte glasses, and they fell to the floor with an echoing crash. Castiel stood frozen for several seconds, his hands in the air, his mouth open, blinking in shock. Dean stared around at the shattered porcelain and glass fragments, at the tray reading “Angel Delight” which had split to separate the two words, unable to form any thought except  _ shitshitshitshit _ . The spell which had held them immobile was broken, however, by Ash’s single, loud, “Ha!” of laughter. They both looked round. Ash shuffled a little so that Castiel’s view of him was obscured by the self-service popcorn island. “You’re in for it now, Winchester!” he called, winking at Dean.

“I’m really, really, s-” Dean started, but Castiel raised a hand.

“Complaints to the bureau of salt, please,” he said, smiling slightly. Dean stared at him, unsure if he was being mocked, chastised, or if Castiel was trying to reassure him. Still smiling vaguely, Castiel fetched a dustpan and brush (which in cinema parlance was called a ‘pick-up’) and handed it to Dean. He looked through the plates to see if any of them had survived, then looked up at Dean.

“You can take care of this, right?” he asked, gesturing to the broken pieces of china. Dean nodded, still wanting to apologise- but Castiel took the few unbroken plates back to the dishwasher without another word. As soon as the AD kitchen door had swung closed, Dean ran his left hand down his face, sighing. Not only had he broken some of the tableware- which would cost money to replace, and Dean wasn’t sure if he’d have to foot the bill himself- but he’d also done it in front of Castiel. 

He started sweeping, pushing the brush a little harder than was necessary. Once he’d got the biggest parts into the pan, he went to the main bin behind the retail counter; passing Ash as he went. Ash followed him.

“He must like you,” Ash said, so close that it made Dean jump. Dean frowned at him a little, then went back to tipping the shattered plates into the trash; wincing internally at the crashing sounds they made as they hit the bottom of the empty trashcan. He turned to find Ash still standing right behind him. He sighed.

“What makes you say that?” Dean asked, resigned. He had little interest in whatever Ash was going to come up with, but he could tell that Ash was not going to leave it alone until he’d said his piece.

“He’s a hard-ass,” he said, simply.

“What?” Dean asked, taken aback. He hadn’t had that sense from Castiel at all- surely Ash was playing it up to mess with him?

“Oh man, if  _ I’d _ done that, I would be dead meat. He’s always super critical, and his staff say he has ridiculously high standards. Oh, don’t get me wrong,” he added, catching Dean’s look of incredulity, “They  _ love _ him. They would walk barefoot to the ends of the Earth for him; but there’s a reason that not many of the people they take on last longer than a few weeks.” He followed Dean back to the pile of ashes that had once been crockery. “I did one shift for him and he threw me out part way through.”

“Ahh,” said Dean, finally understanding. Ash was a nice enough guy, but was fairly useless. When there was work to be done, he had a knack for mysteriously disappearing- in the cinema, you could get away with vanishing for a bit, but in the tiny cafe, there was nowhere to hide. He couldn’t imagine that Ash had been any good, either- certain kinds of people were just not suited to customer service. Ash could be great with people, but if he thought you were a douchebag he would say so.

Dean had just finished cleaning up when Castiel emerged from the kitchen with freshly washed plates. He was about to start apologising again, when Castiel cut him off.

“Dean, honestly, don’t worry about it. It was an accident. Plus, this is a fairly large chain and we can afford to buy a couple more.” Castiel smiled, and Dean sighed in relief. Castiel’s smile faded slightly, and he asked, “Did you think I was going to make you pay for it?”

“Well, yeah, I figured it might work like that. Couple of the other places I’ve worked, they’d take it out of your paycheck.”

“Oh,” said Castiel, his expression softening, “They can’t have been nice places to work.” When Dean didn’t answer, he continued, “Well. Anyway. You’re not in trouble and I urge you to forget about it. Accidents happen, no?” He smiled kindly, and went back to the cafe.

Dean stared after him, a smile spreading across his face. After a few seconds, he realised what he was doing and snapped himself out of it, turning to find Ash leaning on the counter, shaking his head.

“You got it  _ bad _ , man.”

Dean sighed. “Ash?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever get less annoying or is it gonna be like this forever?”


	4. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries to find out more about Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this was late, guys! I was working all weekend and completely forgot. Enjoy!

Dean decided to use his next couple of shifts to start finding out a little more about Castiel. His tactic was by first telling the story of the plates, which segued naturally into discussion about the man himself; then asking about the staff generally- do they hang out with cinema staff, what does it take to get AD training, is their manager into dudes or likely to want his guys a little rough around the edges…

He hadn’t, as yet, actually asked anybody the last question; but he held it in reserve for a day when he could get Charlie drunk. She seemed to be both the most forthcoming and possibly the nosiest, so was the most likely person to actually know.

He learned from Tessa (who worked part-time during the week as she was an administrator at a local clinic at weekends) that Castiel always made sure his staff could have parties at Christmas and in the summer, but only attended them himself for a couple of hours, and that he gave blood regularly (though she only knew that due to her work at the clinic). Garth- who was a nice enough guy, but he just had this unidentifiable quality that Dean found extremely annoying without knowing why- told him that it was a running joke amongst the managers that Castiel would get so wrapped up in his work and making sure his staff took breaks that he frequently forgot to eat all day. Jo said that Castiel was nice enough, but never warmed up enough to the staff to be considered a friend- though she echoed what Ash had said about his staff being unswervingly loyal.

Charlie, however, had all the best gossip. She said that half the staff of Angel Delight had crushes on him, but none of them dared say anything: there had been a girl, Rafael or Rachel or something, who had boasted to everybody that she was going to ask him out, who was fired that same week. Nobody knew exactly why, but they  _ did _ know that Castiel revealed almost nothing about his personal life to anybody on the staff. As far as any of them knew, he’d never come in to watch any of the movies- even though he, too, could see them for free; and yet when asked, talked as if he’d seen them. They also thought he must walk to work, as he’d walked staff to the bus stop (including her), passed the nearest parking lot, and then carried on around the corner. The only other thing she knew was that he never worked on Thursdays, though nobody had ever asked why.

He’d asked Sam, the young man from AD, about how difficult AD training was (and, after telling him he had the same name as Dean’s brother, had discovered that his full name was  _ Samandriel _ , the poor kid), and had accidentally opened the floodgates on how supportive Castiel was. Castiel personally conducted the training of all new employees, as he wanted to ensure only the highest standards for both his staff and his coffee. Apparently, he was one of a team from the West Coast who had been selected to manage the new stores opening across the midwest, owing to his excellence in coffee making. Dean had never thought it could be that serious, but Sam’s sombre expression when describing the different roasts was not to be trifled with.

He thought that he had pulled off his espionage both subtly and well, until one day Charlie joined him on his break.

“So are you gonna ask him out yet, or what?” Dean choked on his reheated lasagna.

“What are you talking about?!” he asked, hoping against hope that he had not been rumbled.

“Castiel. You asked a lot of questions that  _ seemed _ to be about Angel Delight, but somehow always led to being about him.” Dean had been about to interrupt to explain that he was not the one who had led the conversation, when Charlie continued, “Also Ash told  _ literally _ everybody. Cat’s out of the...closet, I guess.” She looked Dean up and down appraisingly, as though assessing him for his rating on the Kinsey scale.

Dean thought about it for a few seconds, running down his options. Eventually, he said, “Did he tell Cas?”

“Cas?!” Charlie hooted with laughter, “You even have a cutesy nickname for him now? Oh man, Ash just said you’d been making eyes at each other, but  _ Cas _ -”

“Does he know?” Dean’s tone was so serious that Charlie stopped laughing.

“No. I told Ash not to out you, especially not to any of the AD staff.” She looked piercingly at him for a moment. “You’re not out, are you?” she asked seriously.

“I’m...not even sure whether there  _ is _ an out to be,” he replied, choosing his words carefully. “I haven’t...I mean, I don’t…” he sighed. “I have never spoken to anybody about it, and I’d rather keep it that way.”

Charlie put her arm around his shoulders and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, man, don’t worry. I’ve been there. Your secret is safe with me.” She held him for a few seconds, then got up and went to the ancient microwave to heat up her dinner. “If you ever want, you know, to talk. To someone who’s been through it, I mean. I’m here.”

He smiled at her. “Yeah,” he said, realising that he actually meant it as he said it.

***

After that, he stopped talking to anybody about the cafe. He also made sure to never be directly involved in any conversations regarding Castiel; and, though his tastebuds hated him for it, he avoided the cafe after that.

That was his plan, anyway, and it lasted for just over a week. Until the day from Hell arrived.

It had started, as crappy days often do, with sleeping badly. His new neighbours loved to party, and no matter how many times he banged on the wall, they continued to play their music and hold loud conversations until the wee hours. On a Tuesday. He had, therefore, slept through his alarm and awoken only five minutes before he was due to open the Crossroads. He raced out, shouting to Sam that he would not be able to take him to school that day, only to find a note taped to the door telling him that Sam had left early to meet a friend about a project.

It took longer than usual to get to the store, Dean sitting in traffic cursing fate the entire drive over. Upon arrival, he discovered that the band who had practiced there the night before had left it in complete chaos. He found enough empty beer bottles to constitute a party, two separate puddles of vomit, and one of the band members asleep in the back room.

Once he’d finished cleaning that up, he found that they’d used one of the boxes of records that Chuck was meant to put into storage before bands came in as a seat, and consequently some of the vinyl was broken.

The shift itself wasn’t so bad, though it was one of the few per month where nobody bought anything. It probably didn’t help that the store smelled like bleach and sick, which didn’t exactly invite browsing. The end, however, was prolonged by Chuck texting, as he had done on a few previous occasions, asking if Dean could stay until the close, as he was  _ inspired _ to write. Dean had to remind him that he now had another job, and his shift was due to start at four.

Consequently, Chuck came down a little after three-thirty, pissy and deliberately taking his time to do the handover; yelling that the store stank and that there was lost revenue on the broken vinyl. Dean left with only fifteen minutes to make the twenty-minute drive to the theater.

He tried to call the office en route, but kept getting cut off- they still didn’t have a voicemail system installed. He parked up just after five past, praying that the four o’clock shows weren’t busy. He raced in through the foyer, wincing as he saw the lines forming, and an unfamiliar man in a suit serving at one of the tills. This must be the general manager, who had been on vacation since Dean had started. He dressed at top speed, getting halfway up the stairs to the foyer before he remembered that he had not clocked in, making him even later- so he jumped the last few steps and fell through the door, clocking in so fast that he made it back through without having to re-open it.

He arrived on the shop floor, twelve minutes late, feeling sweaty, and panting. The lines had all but vanished, and the man in a suit was no longer behind a counter, but was on the door checking tickets. The door that Dean was meant to be monitoring.

He took a deep breath, and walked towards his boss. The man was at least six inches shorter than Dean, and his tan suit looked like it wouldn’t have been out of place in an 80’s porno. Dean drew level, but the man held up a hand whilst he checked tickets for a family.

Once they were in, he turned to face Dean, looking grave.

“You’re the new hire, right?”

“Yes, sir. Dean Winchester.”

The man nodded. After a pause, he asked, “Why are you late?”

“I have another job, and the- the guy who was meant to take over from me was really late.”

The man nodded again. “Well. Just make sure it never happens again, or I might have to fire your ass.”

Dean closed his eyes, and muttered, “Yes, sir,” as the man started to walk away. Suddenly, he turned and came back, a huge grin plastered on his face.

“I’m just kidding, Deano! First, Bobby will not stop talking about what a great find you are- I mean, forget nominating you for employee of the month, I think he’d adopt you tomorrow if you asked- then I get Balthazar, who has never said anything nice about anybody in his life, telling me to put you down as his nominee too; and, I had just looked at your file, and as it happens, I went to college with your boss at the Crossroads, Chuck, and if that man has turned up on time for anything in his life then I am an Angel of the Lord!” He said all of this very fast, and it took Dean a few seconds to process what he’d said.

“I’m...not in trouble?”

“Isn’t that what I just said? The name’s Gabriel, by the way. Oh, and I almost forgot, Castiel, our AD manager, has requested you for barista training if you’re up for it.” Gabriel snorted. “Usually, I have to  _ beg _ him to give anybody training. And I mean, down on my knees, grovel on the floor,  _ beg _ . Not that I don’t know what it’s like down there,” he said, giving Dean a wink so inappropriate he felt dirty for even witnessing it, “But it’s a little weird in front of your brother, you know?”

“He’s...your...you’re related?!” Dean exclaimed, without meaning to speak.

“Yeah! I guess you didn’t know. I begged him to come open our store- it’s the first one in Kansas, you know. He didn’t want to, at first, but I beat him down.” Dean stood in shock, processing this, when Gabriel clapped him hard on the shoulder. “Anyway, I’m the GM- or Big Boss, as I prefer to be called- so if you have any problems, make sure that I never hear about it unless somebody died. Capisce?” He walked away, producing a small lollipop from his pocket as he did.

Dean thought he had perhaps never met anybody stranger. However, the knowledge that he wasn’t in trouble did make him feel a little better; though it didn’t make up for his lack of sleep. By five, he was starting to flag, and half an hour later, Jo was clicking her fingers in front of his face. He started.

“What?”

“I  _ said _ , Dean, go on your break right now and get a coffee, because I’m fairly sure you’re sleeping with your eyes open.” She stood, arms folded, staring him down. “Go on,” she urged, when he didn’t move. Deciding that today was the day to break his pact with himself, he went to get his jacket and wallet from his locker to get himself some caffeine.

His uniform duly covered, he held his breath a little as he walked in to Angel Delight, not sure whether he wanted Castiel to be there or not. On the one hand, he almost wanted to be sure that he hadn’t imagined his intense good looks; on the other, it might be better not to make his pining any worse than it already was.

Heart racing, Dean walked into the cafe.

There was Sam again, taking an order with a pleasantly polite smile on his face; then- and there was no mistaking those shoulders- Castiel, at the coffee machine, dexterously turning handles and pushing buttons. Dean’s throat went dry.

He went to the back of the short line, determinedly staring at the sandwiches and drinks in the fridge next to him to stop himself from staring at Cas. He was just getting to the front, when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Dean turned to find a man in a blue suit looking irritable.

“Hey. You work in the movie theater, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m-”

“Are you guys showing that new movie? You know, the one with the actress?”

“I gotta be honest, there are loads of movies with actresses. What kind of movie is it?”

“Well  _ I _ don’t know, someone told me I should see it but I can’t remember her name. You work here, you should know! Go find out for me.”

“Um, well actually…” Dean tailed off, gesturing vaguely towards the counter; when his eye met Castiel’s.

“He can’t right now,” Castiel explained, though his eyes never left Dean’s, “he’s on his break. Ask someone who’s on duty.”

The man huffed a sigh. “There’s a line.”

Castiel’s gaze snapped to him. “Then join it.”

Dean stood, not daring to turn and look at the customer. The man mumbled something about bad service, but was clearly not brave enough to actually speak up. He heard the man take off, still muttering under his breath.

As soon as he was gone, Dean said, “Hey, man, thanks. I wasn’t sure what I could say. And there are, like, five movies we’re showing with actresses in them.”

Castiel smiled. “Any time.”

Dean smiled back.

Castiel turned back to his coffee machine, saying, “We get a lot of crap like that. Now I’m a manager, I can say whatever I want- so I make sure I do, when my staff can’t.”

“Wait, what do people do here?” Dean asked, laughing, “Do they ask you about the movies, too?”

“Not too often.” Castiel half-shrugged. “Mostly it’s just not understanding coffee.” He turned to look at Dean. “Like, at all. They know nothing.” Dean frowned, not quite understanding what Castiel meant; fearful that he would show his own coffee ignorance if he asked any questions. Castiel cleared his throat, put on a formal, clipped voice, and said, “What’s all this? I just want a coffee. Give me a coffee.”

“But...but it’s all coffee,” Dean replied, hoping that he understood what Castiel meant.

“Exactly!” Castiel exclaimed, “But you can’t tell  _ them _ that, because they get mad. You start asking questions, like, do you want a milky coffee, strong coffee, frothy coffee, but then they get even more mad! Usually they mean a black Americano, but sometimes they don’t so you have to drag out of them what they actually want.”

Dean looked stunned. “Shit, man. The worst I’ve had is complaints that we shouldn’t sell popcorn because one dude finds it annoying.”

“A...movie theater? Not selling popcorn?” Castiel asked, incredulous.

“Yeah. Mostly it’s the same dude, comes in a couple times a week. Goes online, fills out the feedback, gives us a bad score because we still sell popcorn.”

“Well,” laughed Castiel, “what does he suggest you sell instead?”

“Oh no, no,” Dean replied, starting to laugh himself, “he doesn’t get  _ that _ far. We just shouldn’t sell  _ popcorn _ .”

Castiel was shaking his head in amused exasperation when Gabriel entered the cafe. He glanced at the two of them, then said, “If you two are done flirting, we need Dean back on the floor in about five minutes.”

Dean and Castiel’s eyes met. They stopped laughing. Choosing not to address what Gabriel had said, Dean picked up his coffee and left without a second look at either of them.


	5. Some Like it Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a call early in the morning to come in and work...with Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took me so long to update - I have been very sick over the last year, and was too ill to write. I am back, however, and there are some more chapters almost completed. I should, in theory, be back to publishing regularly. Thanks for sticking with me!

Christmas had been slowly creeping up on Dean, but he didn’t realise how close it was until he turned up to work one day and found a Christmas tree in the foyer. He supposed he should have realised, given that Thanksgiving had just been and gone; but the cinema had been open and they were offering time-and-a-half for anyone who volunteered for work, so he’d chosen to work. It wasn’t the first time, and Sammy understood. Thanksgiving had never really been big in the Winchester household. Sam had spent the day at a friend’s house, and brought leftovers for Dean to finish when he got home.

The team received an email from the General Manager entitled “PARTAAY!!!” that week. He’d arranged cover from the Wittertainment in Topeka, with the deal being that he would then send staff to them a few days later- so that meant everybody both had the day off and would be expected to attend. They were going to a restaurant about a block over (for free, which Dean thought was a pretty sweet deal), and then on to a cocktail bar whose owner was a friend of Gabriel’s for limited free drinks.

Since their chat, Dean and Charlie had gotten closer, and had started hanging out outside work. Well,  _ technically _ it was outside work as they were not actually working; but mostly they had come in to the cinema to make use of their unlimited free tickets. She had also invited him to her tabletop RPG group, but he’d declined- though he had to admit that he had been sorely tempted.

He had also been carefully developing a rapport with Castiel, though since Gabriel had accused him of flirting he was conscious of being seen to be too close. Gabriel had also, very unhelpfully, started referring to Dean as “Castiel’s boyfriend”, which made them both very uncomfortable. However, neither of them brought it up. Dean intended to keep it that way.

The same day as the email about the staff Christmas party had arrived, he got a call from work. He was still lounging in bed. It was his day off- his only day off, in fact- and fully intended to tell them that he was completely unable to work.

“Hello?”

“Hello Dean.” It was Castiel. Dean sat up a little straighter, instinctively pulling the sheets up to his chest.

“Cas-Castiel. Hi.” Dean had still not called him Cas to his face; and wasn’t sure if it would be seen as too familiar.

“Dean, I need a favour. A fairly urgent favour.” Castiel did sound pretty desperate.

“Sure, what do you need?” Dean winced. He should probably have checked what it was before agreeing blindly.

“Can you come in and work in Angel Delight today? I know you don’t have any training but there’s literally just me and we have a delivery coming in and I can’t serve customers  _ and _ put it away, so-”

“When do you need me?” Dean interrupted.

“How fast can you get here?”

***

Dean had dressed at top speed, managing to be out of the door in three minutes flat after hanging up. He’d attempted to drive to work at an acceptable pace, but kept noticing the needle on the speedometer creep above the limit when he wasn’t concentrating.

A whole shift with Castiel. Alone.  _ With Castiel _ . His heart had been pounding loudly in his chest since the call. He’d been talking to the guy, sure; but in short bursts- at the beginning and end of shifts, during breaks, and when Cas was in the office using the computer. This was something new. He was going to be in his company continuously for  _ six hours _ . He wasn’t sure his poor, nervous heart could take it.

He knew that it was ridiculous to be nervous. He knew that nothing could happen between them- and, despite the fluttering feeling in his chest and his stomach when he was around Cas, he still wasn’t sure if he would be able to go for a relationship even if it were on the cards. For one thing, Cas was the manager; for another, they worked in the same place- he didn’t know if that was even allowed. The biggest issue, though, was Dean.

He wasn’t even sure why it was that a relationship with a man still seemed too much to handle. He knew it was the 21st century, that things had moved on since even he was at high school; but he could still hear John Winchester in the back of his mind,  _ no boy of mine _ ,  _ sissy, fag _ .

He blinked. He was in his usual spot in the parking lot, but couldn’t remember arriving. Shaking his head, as though to banish all thoughts of his father, he raced out of the car to get to work.

***

The first thing he saw upon entering the cafe was an enormous line and a stressed-out Castiel hurrying to fill orders. He wasn’t sure it was a good idea to distract Castiel, so was just going to go downstairs to get changed when Castiel caught his eye and waved. Dean went over, and found one of the brown Angel Delight shirts being roughly shoved into his arms. Castiel turned immediately back to the coffee machine, and Dean took that as his cue to leave.

He walked quickly out of the cafe, breaking into an almost-run as soon as he was out of sight. Knowing that the building was empty except for the two of them, he started pulling on the new shirt on his way down the stairs, unbuckling his belt as he clocked in. He ran into the team room, pulled off his jeans, stuffed them roughly into his locker and grabbed his trousers. He finished buttoning them up on the stairs, and tied his apron around his midriff as he reached the top door. He was next to the hidden marble staircase with the purple walls, and he paused for a moment to collect himself. Breathing deeply, he strode towards the foyer.

The line looked even longer from inside. Dean glanced at the tired, grey, impatient faces and it suddenly dawned on him that he had no idea what he was doing. He’d blindly agreed to work the shift, with absolutely no training and minimal coffee knowledge. The worst part, however, was that now that he was wearing the uniform, the customers- no,  _ guests _ , he still wasn’t used to that- were not going to see or understand this. They would see him in an Angel Delight shirt and expect him to know everything and do everything perfectly- and their patience would be better not tested this early in the morning.

“Dean!” Castiel called, pulling Dean out of his reverie. Dean went straight over, hoping that he hadn’t been standing there long. Reaching the counter, he stepped behind it, Castiel with his back to him at the coffee machine. Castiel looked over his shoulder, and gestured to the cash register with a jerk of his head. “You do the register. To-go orders are under the ‘OUT’ tab, don’t worry too much if it’s have-in instead, it doesn’t cost extra. Hot drinks have two tabs, first one is for standard drinks and second for espressos, extras, and specialities. If someone hands you a product, try and scan it; if that doesn’t work, sandwiches are under ‘SNACKS’ and muffins and stuff under ‘CAKES’. Anything else just ask me, if you’re not sure don’t ring it up.”

“O...Okay,” said Dean, not entirely sure he’d followed all of that. He decided it was best to just figure it out as he went. He turned, looked at the person in front of him, and asked, “Have you been served?”

***

The rush died down after about an hour and a half, though they still had at least three people in the store at all times. Dean learned that Cas liked his orders said to him and then the receipt placed on top of the coffee machine, with any extras (skinny, decaf, etc.) written in. He learned that experienced baristas can leave the milk to steam without watching it, so Cas was able to make two different drinks at the same time; and that in Angel Delight, you always made your milk before the coffee shots. He learned that Cas could tell if a latte was ready just by touching the outside of the metal jug with his hand, and, most importantly, that there was not an awful lot of space behind these counters, so they kept bumping into each other every couple of minutes. 

The customers had been reasonable so far. They were a lot ruder than the cinema crowd; but Dean had worked in his fair share of fancy restaurants, and so had long since become immune to clicking, sighing, tutting, and eye-rolling. The register, however, was a lot more complicated than the ones he was used to. There were about fourteen different tabs- some repetitions for ‘IN’ and ‘OUT’; but there was one just for cookies and most of the tabs had options that this particular store didn’t even sell anymore. He also had to remember how to charge for things; like, for example, the hot chocolates- there were three kinds of hot chocolate, plus ones with syrups, and if they wanted marshmallows and cream then you simply pressed the button,  _ but _ if they wanted  _ only _ marshmallows then you charged for a standard hot chocolate and went to another tab to charge for just marshmallows. Dean had followed all of that up until Cas had told him that cream was free. He had opened his mouth to question it, then decided not to.

Just before eleven, everything finally went quiet. There was nobody on any of their tables, either outside or inside, and nobody had come through the door for ten minutes. Cas visibly relaxed; his shoulders finally moving downwards (not that Dean was looking, of course) and a small smile gracing his features.

“I quite enjoy customer service at this time,” he said, picking up a cloth and starting to clean the back counter.

“What, when there are no customers?” Dean asked, laughing.

“Exactly.”

They tidied the store in silence for awhile, Dean going to the tables and filling two trays with trash. It was finally quiet enough to actually hear the music being played on the old stereo system.

“So, uh. Do you get to pick the music played?”

Cas snorted. “No. They send out a new CD every time we change over the menu boards.” Cas started pulling measuring spoons out of a drawer, along with a small weighing scale. “I don’t really know why they bother, it’s always the same bland, inoffensive indie-esque stuff. Except for when singers change genders I wouldn’t know they were even distinct tracks.”

“Wow,” Dean laughed, “and I thought  _ I _ hated it!” Cas wrinkled his nose in distaste, but shrugged one shoulder. He turned to the coffee grinder and started emptying out the already-ground coffee.

“I just don’t think it makes business sense to have every single store be an exact carbon copy.” He started a new grind, twisting the knob a little harder than was strictly necessary. “Especially not when it’s a franchise like this one. I don’t see why we can’t just play the same music as in the, uh…” He trailed off, frowning, pinching the bridge of his nose and getting coffee granules on it. Suddenly, his head snapped up, and he exclaimed, “cinema! That’s the word!”

Dean laughed softly. Cas looked a little ridiculous with the coffee on his face, but it was so cute that Dean opted not to remind him that it was there.

“Yeah,” he said, continuing the conversation, “I really like the music in the cinema. It’s all movie soundtracks, but some of them are for films I haven’t even heard of and it made me want to watch them to see if they match the quality of the score, you know?”

Cas beamed. “I made the CDs.”

Dean stared at him, stunned.

“Yeah,” Cas continued, “I really love movie scores, and they’d been using the same crappy CDs for years so I decided to make new ones.”

“Half the songs are from my favourite movies!” Dean’s heart was pounding faster. This guy couldn’t be real, he just couldn’t.

“Oh, I haven’t actually  _ seen _ that many of them, I just go hunting for songs. I tend to get bored watching movies, so I just have them on in the background. It’s easier just to listen to the music,” he said, weighing a little mound of coffee and writing down the weight.

“Oh, dude, some of those are classics! Tell me you’ve at least seen  _ some _ of them!”

Cas shrugged. “One or two.”

“One or-” Dean broke off, putting his hands on his hips with an exaggerated sigh. “We have  _ got _ to fix this, man.” Castiel looked at him curiously, but before they could continue their conversation, a young couple with a stroller and toddler came banging through the front door.

The cinema staff starting arriving at around midday. Thankfully, the opening manager was Bobby, who merely grunted at them both in greeting. Dean had been silently praying that Gabriel was not going to see them together - he didn’t think he could handle the embarrassment, especially not as there would be no way to escape afterwards.

Charlie arrived first, and gave Dean a knowing twinkle.

“Hey, that’s a new look on you!” she said, gesturing at his shirt.

“What, this old thing?” he said, pulling the shirt forwards as though to get a better look at it. “Yeah, I don’t think it’s my colour.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I thought you looked particularly dashing in brown,” Charlie said, winking at him. Dean half-glanced over his shoulder nervously, but Castiel had his back turned. He looked back at Charlie, who mimed texting whilst staring meaningfully at him.

Ash rolled in only five minutes late, which for Ash was akin to being an hour early. He smirked as he saw Dean and Cas behind the counter together, but made no comment.

They had a steady stream of customers for the rest of Dean’s shift. Cas started to teach Dean some of the most common drinks, getting close enough that Dean could have counted his eyelashes. This resulted in some burnt milk, but Cas just teased him, which sent a warmth across his chest. Around five minutes before the end of his shift, Dean remembered something.

“Hey, your delivery is late,” he said, looking at the time. He thought that they always came in not long after opening, which today had been eight.

“They do it overnight,” Cas said, frowning, “Why-” he cut himself off, his eyes widening as his cheeks reddened.

“But...I thought you said-”

“Yes,” Cas cut in quickly, going positively scarlet, “I was meant to have an, um, emergency delivery. Of...of new plates. I had forgotten to replace the others and a couple have since been...well, they’ve gone missing.”

It was Dean’s turn to blush. He had almost forgotten about causing a cascade of crockery. Still, he thought, Castiel wouldn’t have needed to put that away - he could have merely stored it in the stockroom until the mid-shift staff started. He frowned a little, unsure that Cas was telling the truth; but he couldn’t think why Cas would have lied about the delivery. He must have just forgotten. Unless…

No. That was ridiculous. There was no way that Cas would have called  _ him _ to cover if he’d had any other choice; let alone  _ lie _ about a delivery just to get him to come in. It wasn’t about Dean, it was a business decision.

“I will have to call them about not bringing my plates,” Cas said, recovering himself somewhat. “It wouldn’t be the first time they had forgotten my orders.” He glanced at the till, paused, then said, “It’s the end of your shift, Dean, if you’d like to go home.”

“Sure,” Dean replied, “unless you need me to stay? I don’t mind!” He cringed internally about how quickly he had added that last part. Cas smiled, and Dean’s legs lost all feeling.

“Thank you, but no. It’s Friday, and I have taken enough of your free time. Go and have a beautiful celebration night.”

Dean opened his mouth, about to ask what that phrase meant, then changed his mind. “Thanks, Cas,” he said, and smiled. Cas’s face, which had faded more or less back to its usual pallor, turned distinctly pink again.

“I- Cas?” he asked.

Dean’s smile was wiped from his face - he had never called him Cas to his face. He felt panic spreading from his stomach. He didn’t know if a nickname was too familiar, if it would betray any kind of feeling on his part; and if it did, what would he do then? He didn’t know himself what he wanted, or what his feelings actually meant, or if they would still be able to work together...

“I’ve never had a nickname before,” said Cas, quietly.

“Cas- _ tiel _ , I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“I like it.”

They stared at each other for several beats.

A loud, rude voice cut across their reverie. “Hey, can I get some  _ service _ here, or what?”

***

Dean left Angel Delight in a daze. His heart was still beating quickly, but not in an unpleasant, panicky way; it was more like exhilaration. He had accidentally used his secret nickname in front of Cas, and Cas didn’t mind. He couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his face at the look in Cas’s eyes when he’d said, “I like it.”

Vaguely, he heard the crackle of the radio as he crossed the foyer, then Charlie’s voice floated across to him, speaking very fast: “BobbycanIgodownstairsforafewminutespleaseIforgotsomething!” He didn’t register if Bobby responded.

Suddenly (or so it seemed to him) he was standing in front of his locker. It stood open; which was odd, as he had thought he’d closed it after his break. He spent several more seconds staring into it, then a hand appeared in front of his face, clicking its fingers. He turned.

“Holy Christ, Dean, I’ve been standing here talking to you! Didn’t you hear me?”

Dean blinked. “Charlie? I thought you were on shift.”

“I  _ am _ ,” she sighed, “but I told Bobby I forgot something when I saw the love-sick smile on your face. I have  _ got  _ to know what happened! You have two minutes. Go.” She stared at him expectantly.

“Nothing happened.”

“That,” said Charlie emphatically, “is the biggest pile of shit I have ever heard. Spill!”

“No, seriously, Charlie, nothing happened!”

“Oh, so you just decided to show up on your only day off and just  _ fell _ into an AD shirt, did you?” she asked, incredulous.

“Oh! Yeah. He called me this morning and asked if I could cover, that’s all.” Charlie raised her eyebrows, and he repeated, “That’s  _ all _ !”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion at him, but she acquiesced.

“If you say so. Now, help me find something down here that was important enough to justify leaving Ash alone upstairs.”


	6. Define Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The staff Christmas party is upon them. Dean and Cas get to know each other a little better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be able to go back to posting regularly soon, as my life has otherwise gone to shit so I have more free time than I'd like. Hopefully the length of the chapter makes up for the wait!  
> See end notes for relevant translations.

Despite Charlie briefly bringing him back to Earth, Dean very quickly found that everything went hazy once again. First, he put his Wittertainment uniform on rather than his own clothes (though at least he’d noticed before leaving the room); then, having put on the right clothes, tried to put his shoes on the wrong feet. Having checked his reflection carefully to make sure he projected the correct level of Devil-may-care whilst still looking good, he smoothed out his new AD shirt on its hanger, smiling to himself. He got part way up the stairs when he realised he couldn’t remember if he’d clocked out. He went to the clock in machine, and typed in the wrong number twice before finally getting it right.

“Having trouble?” It was Bobby, who was walking towards him from the office.

“Yeah, I’m just tired.”

“I heard Castiel woke you up early. Thanks for covering. D’ya want me to get one of your other shifts covered next week?”

Dean was taken aback. He’d never had a manager think about that kind of thing before. Bobby seemed to mistake his silence for uncertainty.

“It’s up to you, it’s your life - just that without today off, you’ll be working nine days straight. Your next day off won’t be until the staff party, and that won’t be restful.” Bobby pulled a face, showing his clear distaste for the upcoming festivities.

“Actually, yeah, a day off would be great.”

“Good. Folks start to go stir-crazy if they’re here too much. Well, ‘cept Castiel, but between you and me, he’s just weird like that.”

Dean wasn’t sure if his laugh really _was_ as high-pitched as it sounded to him, but to try and hide it, he set off through the door towards the stairs.h

He climbed the stairs with Bobby in silence. One of the things he liked about Bobby was that you could be around him without saying much, and it never felt awkward. For the most part, Bobby was a very grounding presence - exactly the kind of person you want as a manager. He was fairly unflappable, unless somebody went too far. If Bobby felt that you had crossed a line, the anger came off him in waves; and everybody else would run for the hills.

They reached the foyer, and Dean bid Bobby goodbye, receiving a grunt in response. He waved at Ash, who nodded back; then called a quick farewell to Charlie, who waved, then blew him a kiss.

He started through the corridor to Angel Delight, then he heard his name. He stopped and pressed himself against the wall, listening.

“...didn’t know that Dean was trained.” The voice was Sam’s.

“He’s not, not yet. I thought it might be quiet this morning so it would be a good time to start his training.” He sighed. “I still need to hire some more people.”

“You know I would have come in early,” said Sam earnestly. Dean smiled. He was a sweet kid.

“I know, but then you would have been here all day, and I need you on the close.”

“Fair.”

There was the sound of china clinking together.

“Hey, boss, were you going to order some plates? We’re down a few mugs again. I think it’s that group of college kids who take up all the tables and order two drinks between them.”

“I hadn’t gotten round to it yet,” said Cas, sounding distracted, “I could probably go do it now. How many are we missing?”

Dean stopped listening. He walked back through into the cinema as quietly as he could, then left through the automatic doors. Once outside, he ran a hand down his face.

Cas _had_ lied. Why? Dean’s mind was racing. Why didn’t he just tell him he wanted to start his training? On top of that, why had he told Dean there was an order when there wasn’t one?

It must have been to get Dean to feel sorry for him and make him more likely to agree to come in. He was trying to make it sound like a favour to him. Dean knew it was probably just because Cas thought he was a good worker; but he couldn’t banish the thought that maybe Cas just wanted to spend time with him.

Dean blinked. He was standing next to his car, keys in hand, trying to put his apartment keys into the door. Shaking his head a little to try and clear it, he found the correct key and got in to drive home.

* * *

After some careful consideration, Dean decided not to share this new information with Charlie yet. Their next shift together, she had grilled him for every little detail, and managed to get most of it out of him. When he told her that he’d accidentally called him Cas, she gasped dramatically, and put her hands over her mouth. She, like him, was unsure what to make of their interaction. Certainly Cas liked him as a person, but neither of them could glean anything more than that. She encouraged him to talk to Cas further.

“I don’t know, Charlie. I don’t know what I actually want, here.”

“Well, do you like him?”

Dean hesitated. She hadn’t asked him that in as many words, and he had never even really admitted it to himself.

“Yeah. Yeah, I really do.”

“So, what’s not to know?” She looked at him as though it was obvious.

“I don’t know what to do with it. I’ve never...well, I did, but it didn’t-” he broke off, fighting off his father’s voice, trying not to picture any of it. Hands, he remembered, soft, touching, caressing; and then hard, pulling, punching -

“Hey,” she said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder, “it’s okay, Dean, you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“It’s just,” he swallowed. He looked away from her, blinking rapidly, “I haven’t...not for a long time, and it...it wasn’t…” They were silent for several, long seconds.

“Do you want to talk about something else?” she asked. He felt a rush of gratitude towards her. Nosy though she was, she knew when to stop pushing.

He took several deep breaths.

“My father. He caught us. He...wasn’t happy about it.”

Charlie’s mouth opened a little, and her eyes were full of sadness. She squeezed his shoulder firmly, but waited.

Eventually, he continued, “I was- was in high school. Junior. He was a senior.” Dean managed a small smile. “Quarterback, full ride to Kansas State. All the girls wanted him. I thought I just really admired him, but it turns out it was something else. I was a reserve on the team, and a few of them had come over to my house to steal my dad’s beer. Dad didn’t care. He never noticed, or he thought he’d drunk it himself. It’s not like he kept track.” He paused again, still not looking at her. He focused on the self-service popcorn tower. “The other guys lived farther away so they drove home together. He lived a couple of blocks from us, so he stayed a bit longer. We were talking, and then we...weren’t.”

_Lips, softer than he’d been expecting, covering his. Breathless, hands ran over fabric, and then underneath._

“My- my dad. Came home early. Walked in. Kicked the guy out - literally - and he...made it clear I could never do that again. Told me I couldn’t be on the team anymore.” A tear ran down his cheek. He turned his back on the foyer, finally pulling away from Charlie’s hand. He pretended to be looking up the film times on the register.

Charlie joined him, looking at him. He focused on his breathing. He’d never shared any of that story with anybody before.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” she said quietly. She looked like she wanted to say more, but then a guest walked in. She turned to them, taking care of their questions; giving Dean time to gather himself together.

As soon as she was done, he asked, “So, this Christmas party,” he said, making it clear in his tone that he didn’t want to talk any further, “should be fun, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling sadly at him.

“Won’t it be weird seeing the bosses drunk?”

“For you, maybe. I’ve seen them drunk at last year’s shindig.” She started checking them off on her fingers. “Gabriel, it turns out, actually _can_ get more obnoxious, and he _will_ try and get you to dirty dance with him. Nobody ever has, but it’s not for lack of trying. He is an HR disaster waiting to happen.” She rolled her eyes. “Balthazar gets louder and sings. A lot. Bobby is pretty much exactly the same.”

“What about Cas?”

She scoffed. “He never shows.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know. Nobody does. Gabriel makes a show of trying to get him to come, but he never agrees. I guess he just doesn’t enjoy it or something.”

Dean’s heart sank. He’d been looking forward to interacting with Cas outside work. Suddenly, he was considerably less interested in attending.

“Listen, Dean, about before - I’m so sorry that happened to you. I can’t imagine what that must have been like. I just don’t think you should let that get in the way of your happiness. I know he’s your father, but if he’s any kind of dad he’ll want the best for you.”

“He’s dead,” said Dean shortly.

“Oh.” She paused. “Wow, I’m really making this worse, aren’t I?”

Dean laughed. “It’s okay. It’s probably better that he isn’t around. I just struggle to get rid of him, that’s all.”

Charlie nodded, then changed the subject.

Dean felt emotionally drained after their conversation, but somehow he also felt lighter. It was as though the secret had been weighing him down for years, and he’d finally gotten rid of some of the burden. He certainly wasn’t healed, and it hadn’t made his feelings about Cas any less complicated, but he was glad that somebody else knew, and she didn’t hate him for it.

* * *

His shifts didn’t coincide with any of Cas’s until the day before the staff party. He arrived early, got his coffee, then went into the office - ostensibly to check on the announcements board, but in reality, he wanted to see if Cas was in. Cas was hunched in front of one of the ancient computers (it was _beige_ ), poring over a stack of papers. He looked up at the screen a couple of times, then back down at the papers, frowning.

“Something got you beat, there, Cas?”

Cas looked round, a broad grin spreading across his face.

“Hello, Dean. Yes, I asked Gabriel to do the orders a few days ago, and somehow we’ve ended up with more cakes than we could possibly sell.”

“Maybe he wants them for the party.” Dean suggested, moving closer, then leaning against a nearby desk.

Cas rolled his eyes. “More likely he plans to eat them himself when I inevitably end up having to throw them out.” He sighed, looking at the numbers again. “Are you planning on attending the party?”

“Yeah, I am. Any time someone offers me free food, I’m there.”

Cas laughed. “I’ll remember that next time I need a favour.”

“How about you?” Dean asked, “Are you coming?”

“I...haven’t decided yet,” said Castiel delicately, turning over one of his papers. Dean hesitated.

“Charlie said you don’t usually come.”

“No,” he agreed, “but I thought, perhaps this year, I might come and see what all the fuss is about.” He looked up at Dean, and smirked. “Plus, as you said, there will be free food.”

“You should at least come for a bit. I’m sure your team would love to see you there.”

“Perhaps. I’m still deciding, I will probably see how I feel tomorrow.”

Dean beamed at him, then looked up at the clock.

“I’d better go get changed. You should come to the party, it should be fun. I hear Balthazar sings.”

“You are not making a compelling case, but I will think about it.”

* * *

The next day, Dean couldn’t settle to anything. He tried to play a little guitar, but mostly just sat with it on his lap, staring into space. He then tried to do some chores, but kept stopping to check the clock and forgetting where he’d gotten to.

He heard the door open and close, and came out to greet his brother.

“Hey Sammy, how was sch-” he broke off. Sam was looking at him apprehensively.

Behind him was a very pretty girl, peeking around his arm at Dean. Dean smiled at her, then looked up at Sam.

“Who’s your friend?”

Sam swallowed. “Dean, this is Jess.” Dean raised his eyebrows, waiting for the rest of the sentence. After a few seconds, Sam continued, “my- my girlfriend.”

Dean’s face broke into a wide smile.

“Well, hello there, Jess, Sam’s girlfriend. Sam, is this your mysterious project partner?”

“I told you he’d see through that,” Jess laughed. She walked over to Dean with her hand outstretched. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Dean. I hope it’s okay that I showed up unannounced.”

“No problem,” Dean said, shaking her hand. “You’ll have to order pizza or something tonight though, as I’m going to our staff party.” He paused, realising. “And that’s why you’re here, as you know I won’t be in,” he said wryly.

“I can go if that’s not okay,” said Jess quickly, “it was just, there was actually something _we_ -” she nudged Sam, “-wanted to ask you.”

“Is that right?” He smirked at Sam. Sam was stood, poker-straight, eyes wide in fear.

When Sam failed to speak, Jess rolled her eyes. “My parents have a cabin up in Wisconsin, and we usually go up there for a week or so over Christmas. We wondered if you and Sam would like to join us?”

“Sure, Sammy can-” he paused, his brain catching up. “Wait, me as well?”

“I know you don’t really like Christmas, Dean, but I thought it would be nice for us to have a real family time,” Sam said in a rush. Dean stood in silence, taken aback. Sam continued, “I mean, it’s not that Christmas with you isn’t real family time, I just thought...maybe for once you wouldn’t have to cook, and that it might be good to go all out with the Christmas stuff.”

“I...I thought you weren’t into Christmas,” said Dean, feeling a wave of sadness. He’d never bothered because he thought Sam wasn’t interested, and he wasn’t going to do it just for himself. Sam shrugged.

“We don’t have to go, I just thought...I don’t know, Wisconsin, snow, lights, a tree. Maybe we should try it once.” Sam said all of this to Dean’s feet.

Dean paused. “How many days?”

“Just three,” said Sam, “I know you have to work so we could drive up Christmas Eve and come back on the 26th.” Sam looked so hopeful and sad that Dean’s heart melted.

“I’m- I’m meant to be working, but I’ll see what I can do. If not, you should still go without me, okay?”

“Thanks, Dean,” said Sam, and he came over and hugged him. They hadn’t done this since the day of their dad’s funeral, and Dean held him tight.

* * *

Dean went back into his room, reeling. He had honestly thought for years that Sam didn’t care about Christmas - he’d always said it was fine when Dean had to work. There was, however, little time to dwell on that now.

He changed, then picked up the bottle of cologne Sam had bought him the previous year. He looked sadly at it, then decided to put some on. He nodded approvingly, wishing he’d worn it a bit more often.

On his way out, he gave Sam $20 to order pizza, told them Jess had to be home by 10:30, and ruffled his little brother’s hair, which earned him a swipe at the ribs.

The restaurant was a couple of miles from their apartment, but to save the cab fare, he decided to walk it. He also wanted to exercise out some of the adrenaline which had built up during the day.

He knew he was being ridiculous. Cas had never attended before, and had only said he’d think about it. There was no reason to believe he was going to be there, and yet he felt jitters going through him like electricity.

It seemed to take him no time at all to get to the restaurant, and he arrived a quarter of an hour early. He stopped outside, thinking of doubling back so as not to look lame by being the first one there, when he heard someone call his name. He turned. His heart stopped.

Castiel was stepping out of a cab, smiling. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, slacks, and a beige trenchcoat. Dean stood stock still, staring, as Cas walked towards him. He suddenly felt under-dressed in his plaid shirt and jeans.

“You’re early,” Castiel said as he drew level with Dean.

“So are you.”

“Touché,” Castiel laughed. “I knew Gabriel would be late so I thought it best that I show up early to make sure everything was sorted. What’s your excuse?”

“I don’t like being late.”

“We have that in common,” said Cas warmly. “Shall we get in out of the cold?”

Dean followed Cas through the door, still not quite able to believe it was real. Cas spoke to a member of staff, then came back over to Dean.

“What made you change your mind?” Dean asked, unable to stop himself.

“Well, you said Balthazar sings, and who could resist such a spectacle?”

Dean laughed. He chose not to push the topic.

They were taken through to a side room of the restaurant, which appeared to have been allocated just for them. The waitress told them she’d let any further members of staff know where they were, then she left.

He looked around at the tables, which had been arranged in two long lines. He was deciding whether to sit down or wait for the others, when Cas said quickly, “would you like to sit with me?” Dean blinked in surprise.

“Sounds great,” he said, and the look Cas gave him made his heart pound in his ears. He followed Cas to the far end of one of the tables, right in the corner of the room. Castiel put his coat down on one seat, then gestured for Dean to take the place on the end. Dean put his leather jacket over the back, then caught Cas’s eye. They stood barely a foot apart, staring at each other for what could have been several hours, when they heard the door open. They both jumped and stepped away from each other, Dean looking to see who had interrupted.

Tessa and Garth came in, calling greetings to Dean and Cas.

“Hey Dean, want to get in on the pool?” Garth asked.

“Pool?”

“Yeah, every year we bet on how late Gabriel is going to be to his own party. Winner gets a drink bought for them by every person who lost. Except Ash, who will mysteriously disappear when it’s his turn.”

“You sound like you speak from experience,” Dean said, laughing.

“You are looking at the current reigning champion!”

“Yeah, go on then. I say fifteen minutes.”

“Are you sure?” Garth laughed, “You know his record is nearly two hours?”

“That is not his record,” said Cas. “He was once almost six hours late.” Dean, Tessa, and Garth all made impressed noises.

“What was he late to?” asked Tessa.

“He was supposed to be picking me up from the airport. He was late because he forgot to check the day, and didn’t set off until I called him to find out where he was.”

“Harsh,” said Garth.

“How about it then, Cas?” asked Dean, “Surely you’re a shoe-in to win, being his brother and all.” Tessa and Garth exchanged a fleeting look, then Dean remembered that he hadn’t used the nickname in front of anyone else.

“I don’t want to get too drunk, so I’d rather not.”

“Aw, come on,” said Dean, “nobody said the drinks had to be alcoholic!”

“That’s true, I suppose...go on then. I shall be conservative and say thirty minutes.”

“Yes!” exclaimed Garth. “So, that’s Castiel on a half hour, Dean fifteen minutes, I’m going to say four hours because I’m opening tomorrow and cannot afford to be hungover. Tessa?”

“I think forty-five minutes. I think he thinks less than an hour is acceptable, so he will show up closer to the end of that hour.

“Well reasoned,” said Cas, “though he thinks showing up at all is the only requirement.”

At that point Jo came in, with Bobby following a few moments later. Charlie came in just after it was due to start, followed by most of the Angel Delight staff. Everybody else had arrived by ten past, with the obvious exception of Gabriel. They decided to seat themselves rather than wait, and Dean quickly learned that everybody had decided to take part in the bet. The two girls who sat opposite him worked only a couple of times a month - both stayed on staff mostly to keep their free tickets. He couldn’t remember their names, and they seemed perfectly content to talk amongst themselves.

At almost exactly quarter past, the doors banged open, and in strolled Gabriel.

“I know, I know, I’m so close to being on time I’m practically early! Who’s the lucky winner this year?” A few people called out Dean’s name, so Gabriel looked around for him. “Well, Ich gratuliere, Deano-” Gabriel stopped, his eyes falling on his brother.

“Hello, Gabriel.”

“Now _this_ is a surprise! Nice of you to join us, brother mine.” His eyes flickered between Dean and Castiel, but thankfully he chose to make no comment. “So! Now that we’re _all_ here,” he said, shooting a meaningful look at Cas, “I’m gonna read you the riot act real quick. Our team fund is paying for your main course here, plus one drink $5 or less. If you want sides or desserts or more drinks, you pay for those yourself. We’re then going to The Roadhouse-” Gabriel was interrupted by some cheering from Garth and Jo. He waved his hand vaguely in her direction and continued, “yes, yes, everybody say thank you Jo for begging her mother to let us come back after what happened last year. At The Roadhouse, you all get up to three drinks depending on price and how generous I’m feeling. To buy this year’s bet winner’s drinks, use your own money because I will _not_ be responsible for his hospital bills after you all try and give him alcohol poisoning. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” called Garth, “can I have tomorrow off for my hangover?” There was a smattering of laughter.

“No. You will all turn up as scheduled. In fact, if you don’t show up you’re fired. Anything else?” When nobody responded, he continued, “Great. After we eat, we’ll stay here a bit longer and we’ll give out this year’s awards. Now, food!”

Gabriel sat at the opposite end of the table from Dean and Cas, though he kept glancing across at them and smirking. People started picking up the menus in front of them and starting their own conversations, so Dean turned to Cas.

“Do you know what happened last year at the party?”

“Not exactly,” sighed Cas, “but I do know that Gabriel called me to come pick him up because he couldn’t remember where he lived, and the vomit he left in my bathroom sink was blue. When I asked the next day what had happened, he was somewhat unclear; though I think that perhaps destroying things was involved.”

“Sounds wild,” said Dean, suddenly not as pleased that he had won free drinks all night. He was opening The Crossroads next day, though Chuck could hardly complain if he was a little worse for wear.

“That is one reason why I’ve avoided them for so long,” Cas said vaguely, studying the menu. “Not my scene.”

“I feel you, man,” Dean agreed, “I got all that out of my system years ago. I still know how to have a good time, but a good time doesn’t necessarily end with me sleeping on the bathroom floor.”

“I’ve never actually _been_ drunk, I just don’t think it looks much like fun.” Cas turned the menu over, reading the specials.

“What, like, never ever?” asked Dean, surprised.

“Never ever,” repeated Cas, smiling.

“I find it hard to believe that Gabriel never spiked any of your drinks,” Dean laughed.

“He has tried, but I always notice that my Coke suddenly tastes funny. He’s not allowed anywhere near my drinks. Or food, for that matter.” When Dean looked confused, Cas continued, “He is the world’s worst cook. If he could get away with it, he would live on candy and cereal marshmallows.”

Dean looked across at Gabriel, and could just imagine him eating Lucky Charms without the actual cereal. At that moment, a waitress started moving round the table taking their orders. Dean ordered a cheeseburger and a beer, at which point Ash announced from the other side of the room that he was buying Dean’s first drink. Dean was pleased that Ash had gotten in early, as he’d had a horrible feeling that Ash was going to buy him some sort of hideous cocktail consisting of several different shots and nothing else.

For some reason, Dean had been convinced that Cas was some kind of health nut. He’d never seen him eat anything except a yogurt at work, and what with Cas’s admission that he’d never been drunk, Dean just assumed that he was going to order a salad and a water. He was surprised, therefore, when Cas ordered the same things he had.

“I thought you said you didn’t drink?!” Dean exclaimed.

“No, I said I’d never been drunk. I have been a little... _beschwipst_ , uh,” Cas pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. “Tipsy! That’s the word. Yes, I have been tipsy but that’s when I usually stop drinking.”

“Uh, bech-vips?”

“ _Beschwipst_. It means tipsy in German.”

“Oh, cool. You speak German?” Dean had done a little Spanish at school, and had sucked at it. He’d always been impressed when anybody spoke another language.

“Just a little,” Cas laughed. After a few seconds, he said, “It’s my first language.”

Dean stared. Cas shrugged.

“I don’t talk about it much. We lived there until I was thirteen, then my mother was offered a job at a university over here, teaching German politics, so we moved.”

“So...you and Gabriel are German?”

“Yes. And our older sister, Anna. She was sixteen so her English still has a bit of an accent. She moved back to Germany as soon as she could.”

“Wow,” said Dean. “Where are you from?” He hoped the answer was ‘Berlin’, otherwise he was going to have to just nod until he could get to google.

“Bielefeld. Well, maybe,” he laughed. When Dean continued to stare at him, confused, he said, “It’s this joke that Bielefeld isn’t real. I don’t know where it came from, and it’s really stupid, but we’re basically famous for being part of a conspiracy theory that somebody made it up and the city doesn’t exist.”

“Right,” said Dean, frowning.

“I guess if you have to explain the joke, it isn’t funny,” said Cas, accepting his beer as it arrived. He took a sip, then pulled a face. “American beer is terrible.”

“Well, we can’t compete with the country of Oktoberfest.”

“So true.”

“So, do you and Gabriel speak in German when it’s just the two of you?”

Cas took another sip of beer, winced again, then said, “Sometimes. Gabriel was eight when we came to America, so he mostly thinks and speaks in English. To be fair, so do I, I just lose words sometimes - especially if I’ve been speaking to Anna or my mother. I struggle to switch between the two sometimes.” Cas paused, then said, “When he threw up in my sink, I yelled in German. Somehow I think I’m louder in my native language.”

“Also, no offence, but German sounds super angry, so I guess it’s better for yelling.”

“People always say that,” said Cas. “I can’t really hear it, but I guess I wouldn’t.”

Dean had another thousand questions to ask - what was it like moving countries, did he prefer here or Germany, would he ever want to move back - but at that moment, Samandriel called Cas’s attention.

“Castiel, can I get the benefit of your opinion on this?” Sam indicated a large china cup in front of him. He passed it across to Cas, who began examining it carefully. He picked up the teaspoon, pulled back the froth, and looked at the coffee underneath. He then tasted the foam, holding the spoon in his mouth for a few seconds in a way that Dean found very distracting.

“What is this meant to be?” Cas asked.

“A flat white,” said Sam, smirking.

“That is not a flat white. It’s barely a latte. You should send it back.” He pushed it back towards Sam, who turned to the girl next to him to gloat that he’d been right.

“What were you doing with the foam?” Dean asked, unable to help himself. Cas still had a little foam on his lip, and it was taking all of Dean’s focus not to stare at it.

“Flat whites have a denser foam, so it tastes different to a cappuccino or latte. It’s also the hardest to make, which is why you haven’t tried yet.” Cas smiled at him. “But all in good time.” Cas took another sip of his beer, then looked unhappily at the bottle. “I don’t know why I keep drinking this, it’s gross.”

“Well, it _was_ free,” said Dean.

“Huh,” said Cas, taking another sip, “suddenly it tastes much better.” He and Dean looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. Dean looked around for the drinks menu, then handed it to Cas.

“Do you drink wine? I’m sure they have wine.”

“No,” said Cas, “it tastes like trees.”

“Yeah I don’t like it either, but they might have a different beer.”

Cas perused the menu, then his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“They have weizenbier!” He excitedly showed Dean a section in the menu which said ‘wheat beers’, and pointed to one with a German name. “I love weizenbier. It’s my favourite.”

“Wow,” said Dean, unable to stop smiling at Cas’s obvious enthusiasm, “I’ll have to try one.”

No sooner had he said that when Samandriel chimed in, “I’ll get it for you, but I’ll have to give the cash to someone else.” Dean frowned at him, so he explained, “I’m not twenty-one yet.”

“I should start winning bets more often,” said Dean, “I like not paying for my drinks. It makes a nice change.”

“I guess you usually pay for your dates, too?” Sam asked, and Dean choked on his beer.

“Wh-what?” he spluttered.

“Oh, sorry! It’s just, you said about it making a change not paying, and I thought…” Sam trailed off, looking sheepish.

“I, uh. Well, that’s not, um- I-” Dean could feel himself turning red, and was determinedly not looking as Cas.

He was rescued by the arrival of the food, which had the added bonus of giving him something to look at until his face stopped burning. He heard Cas order the two beers, and asked the waitress to take his other beer away. When he looked over, Cas was looking fixedly at his cutlery.

“Don’t wait for everybody,” Bobby called over the tables, “else your food will get cold.” Cas looked up and locked eyes with Dean. For a moment, they just stared at each other. Dean pulled away first, looking down at his burger. He took out the tomato and lettuce, then glanced at Cas. Cas was already chewing his first mouthful, his eyes closed, and a totally blissed-out expression on his face. Dean stared, and he heard a small moan which sounded like Cas. Dean’s mouth parted slightly, and he felt a tightening in his pants.

“I guess that’s a good burger, huh,” said Sam, laughing at the look on Cas’s face. Dean blinked, and pulled himself out of his reverie, shifting a little in his seat.

“I just really love cheeseburgers,” said Cas.

Dean tried to do nothing but focus on his food - the burger, he discovered, _was_ very good, but he wouldn’t have called it porn-moan-worthy. He had mostly finished by the time the drinks Cas had ordered arrived, and Cas’s face lit up when he saw them.

“I hope you like it,” he said, smiling at Dean, then taking a sip. “That’s so much better.” Dean tried it. He thought it was pretty good, but couldn’t tell much of a difference between this one and the beer he’d had before.

“Yeah it’s really good,” he said, not wanting to offend. Cas beamed.

* * *

Once everybody had finished eating, Gabriel stood up.

“So! The moment I’m sure you’ve all been waiting desperately for has arrived. First things first, we’re finally getting a new manager. Her name is Missouri, she made me nearly wet myself in fear in the interview, but all the same I think you guys will love her. Now, the part you all actually want to hear - you may be wondering why you hadn’t heard about team member of the month for a few months. Well, it’s because I forgot, so we’re doing them all now, and then I’ll announce a new award - team member of the _year_.” He waited, and a few people ‘oohed’ fairly sarcastically. “Thank you. So, I don’t want this to last all night so I’m just going to announce it all at once. Miss September was our very own Charlie Bradbury, Miss October was Jo, Mr November is Dean. Come see me when I’m sober and I’ll give you your $15 gift certificate for whatever store you tell me you want it for.” There was a smattering of applause, and Dean was surprised. He’d never won any kind of award before. “So, Castiel is much more organised than I am-”

“That’s not hard,” interjected Balthazar, and everybody laughed.

Gabriel put his hand over his heart in mock offense. “That was hurtful,” he said, exaggeratedly sniffling. Cas turned to Dean and rolled his eyes.

“He’s always been like this,” he whispered.

“As I was saying before I was _rudely_ interrupted, Castiel has already given out prizes for the Angel Delight team member of the month for September and October, and Mr November is Samandriel.” A couple of people clapped. “Team member of the year is available to cinema and AD staff, we all get together and make the case for who should be given this accolade. The prize is $50 cash, plus free tickets and food for you and up to three friends to whatever film you want, and one day off that we _have_ to give you no matter how inconvenient it is. This year’s winner was, actually, an entirely unanimous decision. He’s a newbie, but he’s made himself indispensable very quickly. He always works hard, has been late exactly once-” Gabriel broke off to look pointedly at Ash- “and is the only person my slave-driver brother has ever actually requested to be trained on AD.” At this, Cas turned and smiled at Dean. “So, congratulations, Dean!”

Dean was stunned. Gabriel motioned for him to come over, and Dean regretted complying almost as soon as he got there. Gabriel dumped some glitter on his head, then added a paper crown he’d taken from Burger King. He handed Dean a certificate which had been printed in comic sans, and assured him that it would be going up in the team room along with a picture. Dean folded the certificate and put it in his pocket. As he returned to his seat, Cas said, “Well done, Dean. You really earned that.” At that moment, Dean was forcefully reminded that Castiel was a manager.

They were staying in the restaurant for a little longer so that Gabriel could have dessert (“Typical,” Cas had sighed), so Cas ordered himself another beer. Dean had found his weirdly filling, so he decided to have something else. He’d been about to order when a whiskey over ice was placed in front of him. He looked around to see who it was from to see Bobby raising a similar glass as though to toast him. Dean smiled, and raised his glass in response. He took a sip, then shuddered. It was a good one, but he’d never really been much for whiskey. It reminded him too much of his dad.

“I’m going to be disgustingly hungover tomorrow, aren’t I?”

“Yup,” answered Cas, sipping his beer and laughing.

“Well, might as well get this over with,” Dean said, and he knocked back the entire glass. He only coughed a little, and tried to do it as quietly as possible so that Bobby wouldn’t hear him.

“So, have you ever visited Jo’s mother’s bar?” Cas asked.

“No, not yet,” said Dean. “She talks about it a lot and she’s invited me to go, but I usually just want to get home to Sam. My brother,” he explained, when Cas looked quizzical. “He’s in high school.”

“Oh,” said Cas. “Are you close?”

“As we can be with such an age gap, I guess. There’s only me left to look after him.” When Cas didn’t respond, Dean continued, “Mom died in childbirth and Dad died a couple years ago.”

“I’m sorry, Dean, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s not prying. I don’t mind.” Dean laughed. “He brought his girlfriend to meet me today. He’d never mentioned girls before, then suddenly just brings her home.”

“Did she seem nice?”

“Oh yeah absolutely. Sensible, too.”

“That’s always a plus.”

“Speaking of,” said Dean, checking his phone, “it’s time for her to go home. I’ll just text-” His phone buzzed in his hand as he spoke. It was a message from Sam, which read ‘Jess’s dad just picked her up. 10.30 on the dot :)’. Dean laughed. “Guess I won’t bother. Apparently she just left.”

“Wow. Teenagers actually following the rules. She really must be sensible.”

“I know, right? I don’t think I followed many of those at his age,” Dean laughed. Cas smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Gabriel announced that it was time to drink up so that they could move on to the Roadhouse. Dean decided to have a glass of water before they left, which was met with a chorus of ‘spoilsport’s and ‘boring’s. He ignored them, and had his water anyway. They spent ten minutes figuring out who owed what on the bill, eight of which was Gabriel insisting that he was fine and he could do it, and the final two was him giving up and allowing Cas to sort it out.

The Roadhouse was fairly nearby, so they decided to walk. As soon as they got outside, Jo grabbed his arm and dragged him to walk with the cinema staff.

“We can’t lose you to AD!” she exclaimed, linking her arm with his, “You have to come walk with us.” Dean looked at Charlie, who correctly read his expression and came over.

“Let the man walk, Jo,” she said, gently extricating him from her grip. Charlie then pulled him slightly away from the group.

“I saw you with Cas,” she said. “Dean, I’m not just saying this because you’re my friend and I’m a little drunk, but I think he likes you.” Dean scoffed.

“No way. Nuh-uh. He doesn’t, and I don’t want to have this conversation right now,” he said, pointedly looking around at the others walking nearby.

“Okay, fine, I’ll drop it, but not before I tell you that when you went to get your award he was definitely scoping out your ass.” With that, she loudly changed the subject, and Ash joined in the conversation so Dean couldn’t ask for details. Dean had to admit, she was good. He could now see why she had crowned herself ‘Queen of Petty Revenge’.

The Roadhouse looked somewhat out of place in downtown Lawrence. It looked like the kind of bar which is in the middle of nowhere, yet somehow is always stocked full of regulars. Jo led them in, and waved to a red-headed woman behind the bar. She nodded at them all, looking beadily at them as they passed. Dean assumed this was Jo’s mother. They went towards a back corner of the bar, where there was a piece of paper on several joined-together tables reading ‘reserved’. At the last restaurant Dean had worked in, they paid an artist to come and draw the reserved signs on these fancy chalkboards, which were changed for every major holiday. He liked The Roadhouse’s better.

Charlie dragged Dean to the bar to get him the drink she owed him, insisting he would like the one she chose. He protested when she ordered a cocktail, however, taking a sip, he found that he rather liked it.

“What is this?”

“Dark and Stormy. I thought it fit your persona.”

“Hilarious.”

He sat with the cinema staff for an hour, which was fairly fun, though Jo was sitting pretty close to him, and he could tell that soon he was going to have to tell her he wasn’t interested. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. He kept glancing over at Cas, noticing that the more he drank, the more often he looked. Cas was occasionally joining in the conversations either side of him - the AD team and the managers. Eventually, Gabriel stood up again.

“Alright guys, we’re meant to be socialising _as a team_ here. No separating off. Managers, mingle with your minions. And this ain’t Romeo and Juliet, please, cinema side, come make friends with the AD side. Also, Dean, don’t think I haven’t noticed that you ditched your crown. You will pay for this later.”

Dean sighed. He looked at Charlie and Ash, then indicated the AD team. They all stood to go and talk with them. Just as they arrived, the two girls he had sat opposite at dinner beckoned Charlie to go and sit with them, and Ash followed. Dean noticed that the only empty space was against the wall, in the half-booth, in between Sam and Cas. He sat down, torn between trying hard not to sit too close to Cas and wanting to press as much of them together as possible.

“Hello Dean,” said Cas, “you’ll never guess what they have here.” Cas was talking a little louder than usual, and there was a tinge of an accent coming through. Dean thought it was both adorable and hot.

“Is it the wheat beer you like?”

“Yes,” he said enthusiastically, “and they have my favourite brand!” He indicated the two bottles in front of him. The name was long and had various dots over letters, and included a letter that kind of looked like a capital ‘b’.

“I don’t think I’d be able to pronounce that even if I wasn’t...uh...bee-chips?” Castiel looked confused for a second, then comprehension dawned across his face, making his blue eyes light up.

“ _Beschwipst!_ You remembered!” He smiled at Dean, and Dean could have sworn that Cas glanced at his lips.

“Beschwipst?!” Gabriel turned to face the two of them. “What are you, ninety?”

“It’s a perfectly correct word, Gabriel.”

“Yeah, if you’re Uncle Josef after he’s been on the spritzer, and it’s 1973.”

“Don’t be dramatic, it’s not that old-fashioned.”

“Uh-huh. Okay Waltraud.” Gabriel turned to Dean. “If you want to speak this century’s German, you want to say _angetrunken_.”

“Ange..drunken?”

“Eh. Close enough,” Gabriel shrugged.

“What does that mean?”

“ _That_ ,” said Gabriel, with a meaningful look at Cas, “means a little drunk, or tipsy.” He shook his head. “Beschwipst. Honestly.” Castiel merely rolled his eyes in response.

“What did he call you?” Dean said quietly to Cas.

“Waltraud. It’s just a seriously old name, like Gertrude or something.”

“Oh. I thought it might have been a reference to something.”

“No. Gabriel was attempting to be funny. He does that.” Cas drained the last of his beer, and Gabriel immediately pounced.

“Another for my brother, and I shall buy this year’s bet winner a drink.”

“Thanks, I’ll have-”

“Ah-ah-ah,” said Gabriel, wagging his finger at Dean, “I’m picking.”

“Gabriel,” said Cas, sounding worried, “I don’t think I should-”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Gabriel repeated, louder this time, “we are here to have fun, and it’s your favourite drink. You’re having another.” Castiel sighed, defeated.

“He’s going to get me something disgusting, isn’t he,” said Dean. It wasn’t a question, more a defeated statement; but Castiel answered it anyway.

“Yes. It will probably be very sweet and very alcoholic.”

“Great,” said Dean, wondering if he’d be able to sneak it to the bathroom to pour it down the sink without anybody noticing.

Gabriel returned with Cas’s unpronounceable beer and a bluish concoction he was told was called a ‘purple nurple’. He was surprised that a down-to-Earth place like this carried drinks this colour. He took a sip, then screwed up his face in disgust. It tasted simultaneously like liquid sugar, some sort of unidentifiable artificial fruit flavour, and alcohol. It also had a hell of an aftertaste.

“I’m going to watch you, Dean-o, and if you don’t drink it all, I’ll just keep buying them for you until you do.”

Dean started to consider dumping the whole thing on Gabriel’s head.

“You’re better drinking it now,” said Cas. “Trust me, he only gets worse the more he drinks. You’re lucky he didn’t buy you a pitcher.”

“They do pitchers?!” Gabriel asked, sounding devastated.

“I now have an answer as to why his vomit was blue, at least,” said Cas, examining the drink.

“That’s real comforting, Cas,” said Dean, eyeing his drink warily.

A few of the team had gotten up and started dancing. Garth was moving in such an ungainly way that the others were giving him a wide berth. Jo came over.

“Hey Dean! Want to dance?”

“Oh, uh, no thanks. I have to finish this delicious...whatever the hell it is that Gabriel got me.” He indicated the drink in front of him.

“A purple nurple? You should have seen him last year, he got trashed on those.”

“So I hear,” Dean said.

“You sure you don’t want to dance? It’ll be fun!” She gave him a look that he could only think of as a come-hither look.

“No, really, but thanks.” Six months ago, that look would have worked on him. He’d have abandoned his purple nurple and danced with her, letting her grind up against him, probably even tried to take her home (though given that this was her mother’s bar, he probably would have insisted on going somewhere else first). He wouldn’t normally sleep with someone he worked with, but he was getting pretty drunk, and she was hot, and he hadn’t had any in awhile. Jo just got there too late. He couldn’t fathom the idea of doing anything with anyone while Cas was watching.

Jo looked crestfallen. Instead of going to the dance floor, she went towards the ladies’ bathroom. Dean felt guilty.

“I think she really likes you,” said Cas, sounding a little flat. Dean looked round at him, and he was doing that smile that didn’t reach his eyes again.

“I figured.” Dean sighed. “Well, I had to let her down eventually, I guess. I just wish she hadn’t asked in front of everybody, it makes me feel like a douche for upsetting her.”

“Leading her on would have been worse. It’s not nice.”

“That’s true, I guess. I still feel bad for her, though.”

“Cheer up. I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Cas smiled at him - a real smile, this time - and changed the subject.

* * *

Gabriel forced Dean to finish his purple nurple, and Dean begged the next person - one of the girls Charlie was sat with - to get him something normal. She laughed, and bought him a beer. He also went and got a water, as the sugar in the purple nurple made him feel a little nauseated. He texted Charlie from the bar and found out the two girls were called Sarah and Gilda. He thanked Gilda for the beer, and noticed that she and Charlie were sitting fairly close together, even though there was plenty of room for them to be further apart. He smirked at Charlie, and went back to sit with Cas.

Cas and Gabriel had been having what appeared to be an argument; though it was hard to tell, as they were speaking German. Cas broke off as Dean sat down, then looked meaningfully at Gabriel as if to emphasise the point he had just made. Gabriel held his hands up in surrender, but didn’t say anything. Cas stared at the table for a few seconds, annoyed, then suddenly stood up.

“I’m going to get another drink,” he announced, then walked to the bar.

“Wow, I must have really pissed him off,” said Gabriel, sipping his drink through three straws at the same time, pushing the paper umbrella away from his eye. Dean bit his tongue to stop himself from either making a sarcastic comment or asking what they had been talking about. To avoid the awkwardness of the silence between the two of them - a silence he was sure that Gabriel would shortly attempt to fill - Dean went to the bathroom.

On his way back, Balthazar called him over to the bar. He looked, as always, vaguely irritated and bored.

“Dean. I’m buying you a shot. Pick your poison.”

“I don’t usually do shots.”

“Well, I participated in the bet so now I have to get you a drink, and shots are the cheapest thing, so, yeah.” Bathazar waited for a few moments while Dean looked at the bottles along the back wall, then continued, “Ugh. Vodka or tequila?”

“Tequila,” Dean replied, assuming that ‘neither’ wasn’t an option. He was starting to regret having participated in this bet - sure, having people buy you drinks was nice; but he’d thought it would be more about just paying when he decided that he wanted another. They all wanted to get him drunk, and he wasn’t sure that it was a good idea around his colleagues.

The bartender placed the shots with lime wedges and two packets of salt in front of the two of them. Balthazar wasted no time in throwing it back, then set his shot glass on the bar upside down.

“Drink up,” he said, raising his eyebrows at Dean. Dean poured the salt on his hand, licked it off - though he’d never understood what this was meant to achieve - and drank the shot. The strong taste and smell of alcohol made him gag a little, so he grabbed the lime and bit into it gratefully. He found that it actually took away some of the nausea he’d been feeling, though he resolved not to take any other shots. Balthazar sauntered back to the table, then Sarah came over to him at the bar.

“Hey! I’m going to head off home soon, did you want another drink?”

“Would you mind getting me a Coke?”

“Sure! Do you want me to tell people I put vodka in it?” She smiled kindly.

“Ugh, yes, thank you, you’re a saviour.”

Dean thanked her for the drink, then went back to sit with Cas. Had he been more sober, he reflected, he might have wanted to be a little more subtle; but he was getting towards being properly drunk, and he didn’t want to deny himself the chance to spend more time socialising with Cas.

Cas was staring at what remained of his beer, looking as though he was concentrating very hard. Dean sat down, sitting closer than was strictly necessary, as Samandriel had gone to dance.

“You can take that coat off, you know,” said Dean, plucking at the tan trenchcoat that Cas was still wearing.

“I’d rather not. It makes me feel…exposed.” He sounded as though he was choosing his words very carefully.

“Exposed?”

“Yes,” he said, but he did not elaborate. He looked around at Dean, and they locked eyes for several long seconds. Then, slowly, without breaking eye contact, Cas slipped the coat off from around his shoulders and let it fall against the sofa backing. Dean wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, or being so close to Cas, or something else, but that was somehow the hottest thing he’d ever seen. He could feel himself getting hard in his jeans, and was very glad that his jeans were loose. He started breathing a little more heavily, and found that he couldn’t look away. He kept expecting Cas to turn at any second, but they just kept staring at each other. Without knowing what he was doing, he suddenly found himself speaking.

“Do you want to dance with me?”

“I...what?” Cas looked taken aback, but not displeased. They continued to look at each other.

“Dance. With me.” Dean could feel his heart beating, and he wondered how Cas couldn’t hear it, it was so loud. Cas continued to look up at him through his eyelashes.

“Define dancing,” said Cas, his voice cracking a little. Dean gestured vaguely in the direction of their colleagues, but still didn’t dare to look away and break the spell. He felt as though something like electricity was crackling between them, and he didn’t know if Cas was feeling it too, but how could he not be, it was so strong-

“We go over there and move about to the music,” he said. He had no idea what had made him suggest this, it was delicious torture, Cas could say no, and Dean only asked because he was drunk, but he wanted it, wanted to get closer to him, touch-

“Let’s do it.” He heard Castiel say the words, but didn’t process them for a few moments, not until Cas was standing, still looking into his eyes, and he took Dean’s hand and gently pulled him towards the others. It wasn’t a dancefloor as such, more of a gap in the tables, and the others were fairly close to them - but to Dean, they might as well not have been there. All he could feel was his hand in Cas’s, and even when Cas turned away to lead him into a space, he still felt the electricity from before coursing through him. Just as they were getting there, the song changed into something a little slower, and out of the corner of his eye he could see some of his colleagues coming together to dance in pairs, and oh God what had he done-

Cas turned, and they locked eyes again. Wordlessly, Cas moved his hand inside Dean’s, and slid his other onto Dean’s shoulder. Dean felt his own hand gently brush onto Cas’s waist, and Cas stepped a little closer. The space between their bodies where they weren’t touching suddenly felt magnetic, and it took every last ounce of Dean’s self control not to close the gap and press himself into Cas. They started moving, and Dean could feel Cas’s hands guiding him.

Dean thought he could sense everybody staring at them, but part of him didn’t care. He didn’t look to check if he was right.

“You’re good at this,” said Dean, smiling at Cas. Cas laughed, breaking eye contact to look down for a moment. When he looked back up, Dean caught himself looking at Cas’s mouth. He tore his gaze away, fixating on a point somewhere over Cas’s left shoulder.

“I had lessons for a while,” Cas said, and Dean looked back at him. They looked into each other’s eyes for a few moments, then Cas turned his face slightly away. “It was...it was for my wedding.”

Dean felt his heart drop into his stomach. Trying to maintain his composure, he said quietly, “I didn’t know you were married.”

“Oh, no, I’m not...we didn’t go through with it, in the end.” Cas’s eyes were unfocused, lost.

“Well, I’m...sorry.”

Cas laughed. “It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault. As far as I know.” He looked back up into Dean’s face. “He cheated on me, at least a few times, but I don’t know who with. Nor do I want to,” he added, scoffing.

He. He cheated. _He_ cheated.

Castiel had been with a man. In a serious relationship, with a man. Dean tried very hard not to seem too happy about hearing this, but his insides were doing somersaults.

“At least you found out before you were married,” Dean said, hoping that he sounded consoling rather than pleased.

“Yes, I suppose.” Cas looked like he wanted to say more, but was stopping himself for some reason. Dean knew that he was a very private person and didn’t want to push him, but at the same time he _really_ wanted to know more.

The song changed.

“Smooth!” Dean exclaimed. Cas looked at him, confused. “Santana. The song?”

“Oh!”

They had stopped moving. Dean wasn’t sure if they were going to carry on dancing. He desperately wanted to, he knew he’d ground up against people before to this song, but the part of him that was still sober was telling him that could only lead to problems. He felt Cas’s hand loosen in his, and he put his arm down.

“I believe I owe you a drink, Dean Winchester.” Dean liked the way his name sounded in Cas’s mouth, with a lopsided smile around it. He’d noticed that look on Cas before. It made him want to lean down and kiss it off him.

“Yeah,” said Dean, clearing his throat and looking away. “Sounds good.”

Cas walked away towards the bar, and Dean went to the bathroom again. He splashed cold water on his face, then wondered what to do about the raging hard-on in his pants. Hiding himself in the stall, he readjusted to make his boxer shorts hold it down, then moved his jeans about to make sure it wasn’t obvious. He then leant back against the door, his eyes closed, his mind racing. Flashes of what had just happened came to him - asking Cas to dance, Cas looking up at him, Cas’s hands, but then, _Cas’s hands running down his chest, his lips at Dean’s neck, pushing himself up against_ -

Dean’s eyes snapped open. He ran his fingers through his hair, willing the image in his mind to stop, to go away, _not here, not now_. He went back to splash more water on himself, then caught sight of himself in the mirror. His cheeks were pink, his hair tousled, and it was hard to tell in this light, but he thought his eyes looked bigger, somehow. He looked how he would imagine he’d look if what had happened in his head had been real. Quickly, before anybody else arrived, he wet his hands and tried to fix his hair. He’d just have to hope nobody noticed the flush that was now creeping up his neck.

No sooner had he stepped out of the bathroom than Charlie pounced on him.

“Come for a smoke?” she asked, then she said, “Great! Thanks!” without waiting for an answer. She dragged him past their colleagues, most of whom were engrossed in their own conversations or were still dancing, past the bar, where Dean could see Castiel ordering, then through the other patrons and out to the front.

“You smoke?” Dean asked, surprised.

“No, I don’t, but I had to make sure you knew exactly what you’re doing.”

“What are you talking-”

“Oh, cut the crap, Dean!” She sounded irritated. “You two have been glued together all night, then you had a really intense eye-fucking sesh which culminated in a slow dance. Now, I want you two to get together, like, _I ship it_ ,” Dean assumed this was internet speak, as he had no idea what it meant, “but we’re with our colleagues and _people noticed_.”

Dean blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Samandriel said he wasn’t surprised you were dancing as you’d spent all night flirting, and I did my best to steer them away from the conversation, but I don’t think they’re the only ones who saw.” She sighed. “Look, man, I didn’t come out here to give you a lecture. I just want you to be careful. If you’re not ready, then maybe you should cool it a little.”

Dean didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t realised he was being so obvious.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said quietly. Part of him wanted to just bolt, but he knew he’d end up dealing with the fallout from that for much longer.

“Hey, don’t ask me. I’d have made out with him when you were dancing. I mean, you clearly wanted to.”

“Was it that obvious?” Dean groaned.

“Hey, Dean?” Jo’s voice came from behind him. He turned to see her walking hesitantly towards him.

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound as though his insides weren’t running riot with indecision.

“Listen, I just...I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable before.” When he stared blankly at her, she continued, “I mean, I didn’t know you were…” she trailed off.

“What?” he asked. Panic was rising in his chest.

“Gay,” she said, averting her eyes, as though concerned that would offend him. Dean turned back to Charlie, who gave him a ‘well-I-told-you-so’ kind of look.

“I- I’m not. I mean, sort of- well, uh, I…” He was properly panicking now.

“Oh, no, Dean, I’m so sorry, it’s absolutely none of my business. I shouldn’t have...I just, I want us to stay friends. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.” She smiled faintly, then turned to go back inside. Dean caught up with her just before the door and pulled her arm.

“I’m not ready,” he said, looking imploringly at her. “I don’t, I haven’t...I need to sort myself out, first. I’m not ready.”

“Alright. If you ever want to talk about it, you know I’m here, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. Thanks.” He smiled weakly at her. She went back inside.

He turned back to Charlie.

“I’m going to go face it. Listen, if anybody asks-”

“I’ll tell them to mind their own business and make sure they never bring it up with you or Castiel. Don’t worry, I got your back.”

* * *

Having composed himself as best he could, he re-entered the bar to find a few people leaving. Garth, Sarah, and Balthazar were opening the next day, and had all chosen to call it a night. He bid them goodbye, and returned to the group. Castiel was talking to Gabriel again, heads bent close together. There were two drinks on the table. Dean took a deep breath, and went over. Gabriel was talking, and Dean heard his name. Cas gave Gabriel a meaningful look, then turned to Dean and smiled.

“I got you another Coke. I’m sorry to be boring, but something rather unfortunate happened to your last one.” He shot a dirty look at Gabriel. “Don’t worry, I have guarded it carefully.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean laughed.

“Cas?!” Gabriel’s face cracked into a huge grin. “He calls you _Cas_? What’s your pet name for him, D?! Well, that’s more like what you-”

“Gabriel!” Castiel barked, flushing scarlet, “that’s enough.”

“What?! It’s not my fault if you two- oops!” In gesturing to emphasise his point, Gabriel had hit the table, knocking one drink over and the other onto the floor, where the glass smashed.

“ _Verdammt nochmal_ , Gabriel!” Castiel said angrily. He hoisted Gabriel onto his feet. “I’m sorry, Dean, but I’m going to have to take him home while one glass is all he’s broken.”

“Of course, yeah. Do you want help?” Dean indicated Gabriel, who was leaning heavily on Cas.

“That would be good, thank you,” said Cas. Dean went over and took Gabriel’s other side, helping to support him to the door. Their progress was hampered by an unwilling Gabriel, who decided not to support much of his own weight. Dean and Cas managed to awkwardly maneuver him out of the door.

It took a couple of attempts to persuade a cab driver to take Gabriel. Most of them took one look at how drunk he was and drove off. When they had finally managed to persuade one to take him, Dean and Cas had to practically shove him in. He was sober enough to know that he didn’t want to go home, but drunk enough that he couldn’t put up much of a resistance to Cas and Dean’s manhandling.

“Are you going to be okay getting him home?” Dean asked, suddenly conscious that he and Cas were only inches away from each other.

“Yeah, I’ll just bring him to my house. I don’t trust him on his own.”

“Okay. Good luck, and good night, Cas.” Dean found himself looking at Cas’s lips. If this was a date...the thought faded as soon as it came. It wasn’t a date.

“How are you getting home?”

“Walking.”

“Oh, you live nearby?”

“Yeah, it’s just a few miles away, over-”

“ _Miles_?!” Cas exclaimed, then shook his head. “No. No. I’m not letting you walk. Get in the cab.”

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry-”

“No. I won’t allow it.” Cas opened the door behind him and pointed. “Get in.” Under normal circumstances, Dean would have refused; but he still didn’t want to leave Cas. He slid across the back seat to the opposite side, and Cas got in after him. Gabriel was half slumped in the front seat.

“Where to?” The cabbie turned to look at Cas. Cas gave an address near Kansas University.

“What about you, Dean?” Cas asked.

“I’ll help you get Gabriel in, then I can get another cab from there to my place. It’s closer from there.” This was not strictly true, but he wanted to prolong the visit as long as possible. He had expected Cas to protest, but he said nothing.

The cab took them past the Wittertainment. Cas sat up and looked at it, his eyes narrowing.

“They haven’t turned off the counter lights.”

“Huh?” asked Dean, turning to look; but they had already driven too far past for him to see.

“You’ll know when I show you how to close AD, but they should have turned off the counter lights before they cleaned them. I bet they didn’t clean them. I’ll have to email-”

“Castiel,” interrupted Gabriel, “ _Dienst ist Dienst und Schnaps ist Schnaps_.”

“Fine, fine,” said Cas, leaning back against the seat, his arms folded. They spent the rest of the journey in relative silence, with the radio on faintly in the background.

Eventually, the driver pulled up outside a yellow house with white columns on a fairly suburban street. Dean realised it was actually going to be hard to get a new cab from here; but he’d worry about that later. He went to help Gabriel get out of the car. Gabriel’s wallet fell onto the floor of the cab, so Dean passed it to Castiel, who was still in the back seat. Castiel opened it to pay the driver. Dean laughed.

They had an easier time getting Gabriel into Cas’s house. Their biggest problem was that he kept trying to talk to them, which sent them lurching off in the wrong direction as he turned. Cas fumbled for a moment with his keys, then unlocked the dark wooden front door.

The hallway was dark, and Cas hadn’t turned on the light; but Dean could faintly see that there were a few over-stuffed bookshelves lining the walls. He followed Cas’s lead to a room at the back of the house. Cas shoved the door open, and he and Dean pushed Gabriel inside. It was a fairly small, plainly-decorated bedroom with white walls and white bedding. Dean and Cas let Gabriel flop onto the bed, then took off his shoes, positioned his head on the pillow, and, with difficulty, covered him with the blanket. Gabriel barely reacted, except to say a muffled thanks.

He and Cas walked silently out of the room, and he followed Cas into an open-plan living and dining room. Cas clicked on the light.

There were even more books in here. There was also a tall house plant, an ancient TV, and a plain grey sofa set. Dean looked around.

“Where’s all your stuff?”

“This is all my stuff.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Castiel shrugged. “I never felt like I particularly needed much. Would you like a drink?”

“Sure,” said Dean, though he didn’t particularly want one. He’d sobered up considerably, but was still fairly drunk. Cas disappeared into a room off the dining area at the back, and Dean wandered over to the couch. It was pretty comfortable - much better than the second-hand one he’d picked up for him and Sam at a yard sale.

Cas returned with two tumblers of a clear liquid Dean very much hoped wasn’t vodka. He sniffed it, and it smelled pretty good.

“It’s schnapps. _Obstwasser_ , to be more specific. It’s kind of apple-y.” Cas took a fairly large sip. “I hope you like it.”

Dean tasted it. It was fairly strong stuff, but had a more pleasant fruity aftertaste than most spirits. He nodded.

“Yeah. It’s nice.”

Castiel beamed, then went back into the kitchen. When he returned, he was carrying a white bottle with an apple and a pear on the front.

“There’s not too much left, so we might as well finish it,” he said, downing the rest of his glass and pouring himself another. Dean copied him, pointedly ignoring the part of his mind telling him not to get too drunk around Cas for fear of doing something stupid.

“So, how are you liking being…” Dean thought for a second, then carefully said, “ _beschwipst_?”

“Hey!” said Castiel, his whole face lighting up, “that was excellent! Though I passed through tipsy and am now _betrunken_.” He turned his head to one side. “It’s not as unpleasant as I was expecting. Though some things are...fuzzy.” He looked at Dean, then said, “I’m struggling with my impulse control.”

Dean took another drink, then asked, “What, like, running naked down the street? ‘Cause I did that once for a bet and it’s not that great.”

“No,” Cas laughed, “though I’d have liked to have seen that.”

“Keep giving me booze and you just might.” There was a silence as Dean realised what that might have sounded like, but he didn’t know how to clarify without outright lying. Cas’s breathing had quickened, and he was staring at Dean with his lips slightly parted. He then looked away, and knocked back his second glass of schnapps and reached to pour a third.

“I should probably check on Gabriel,” he said, getting up and going straight out of the room. Dean tried to ground himself and focus on what he should do - at some point, he needed to be going home, for example - but a heady mix of the alcohol and his raging hormones were making it difficult for him to think of anything but Cas shoving him up against a wall. His cock pulsed insistently in his pants at this, making Dean feel hot and cold all over. If he didn’t do something soon, he thought he might go insane.

As Castiel came back into the room, Dean jumped and realised that his hand had been moving to palm himself through his jeans. He put it underneath his leg, not trusting himself.

“Is he alright?” he asked, hoping he sounded convincingly casual. Cas flopped down next to him, sitting closer to him than was strictly necessary.

“ _Er ist völlig blau_ ,” said Cas.

Dean shifted a little, crossing his legs away from Cas in an effort to hide his erection. He wished Cas wouldn’t speak German, it was _doing things_ to him.

“What?” Cas asked. Dean stared at him.

“What?” Dean asked back.

“You just...you said, speaking German, it…”

Dean’s mouth went dry. He had said that _out loud_. Cas had heard him. He had said it and Cas had heard it. They stared at each other. Dean swallowed, opened his mouth to try and speak. Nothing happened. He took a deep breath and tried again. Nothing happened. Deciding that he was too drunk to deal with this, he stood up and made for the door, unsure where he was going, but knowing that he couldn’t be trusted to stay any longer.

“Dean, wait,” Cas called, but Dean was walking purposefully towards the front door. He stared at it, unsure where the handle was, when a strong grip grabbed his arm and spun him around.

Before he knew what was happening, Dean had been pushed into the door and Cas had pressed himself into him. He put a hand behind Dean’s head and pulled their mouths together, hot and wet and insistent, and Dean could hear moaning but wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Cas’s hand slid down to Dean’s collar, and he pulled it tight, his hips moving up to rub up against Dean’s groin. This time Dean was sure that the sounds were coming from him, his legs opening slightly to let Cas get closer. He could feel Cas’s hard length through the slacks, pressing up against Dean’s.

Dean opened his mouth and Cas’s tongue slid in. Cas shifted his hips again, starting to move in a slow rhythm which was setting Dean’s nerve endings on fire. Cas started kissing down Dean’s slightly stubble-rough jaw, biting when he reached his neck, eliciting a hiss. Cas pulled Dean’s shirt from where it was tucked into his jeans, slipping his hand underneath to touch Dean’s skin. His hand was slightly cold, but the tingling trail he left where he had touched felt like it was burning.

Castiel moved his mouth back to Dean’s, and suddenly he was slowing down, kissing gently, pulling back when Dean leant forward, desperate for more. He moved his hands to Dean’s buttons, slowly undoing each one, careful not to touch the skin. Dean groaned, winding his arm around Cas’s waist, trying to pull him in closer; but Cas was stronger than he looked and was resisting him. Their hips were only gently pressing together now, and Cas moved back whenever Dean tried to push forward. When Dean finally had to move away from the door just to be able to reach Cas, he pulled away to look at him.

“Why’d you stop?” Dean was breathing heavily, want coursing through him and blocking any other thoughts from intruding.

Cas laughed softly. “Just wanted to be sure you really wanted it.”

“And _this_ ,” he indicated the now-obvious bulge in his jeans, “wasn’t enough of a hint?!”

“Well,” said Cas teasingly, his fingers gently stroking across Dean’s bare chest, “you were all in a hurry to leave not so long ago, and I wouldn’t want you to stay if you didn’t really want to.”

Dean didn’t know what to say to that. He thought about it for a few moments. He probably _should_ leave. They were both drunk, and they were colleagues, and Cas was technically his boss (and that thought only turned him on _more_ , a thought he would have to explore later), and he didn’t know what the consequences might be…

He stepped forwards and wrapped an arm around Cas, pulling them flush together once more, leaning down to capture Cas’s mouth. Cas moaned into Dean’s mouth, his hands reaching to push Dean’s open shirt from his shoulders. Without breaking the kiss, Dean helped Cas to get it off, then Cas started undoing the buttons on his own shirt. As soon as skin was exposed, Dean reached both hands to run his hands up Cas’s back, scratching gently with his nails on the way down.

Cas moaned again, then grabbed one of Dean’s belt loops and put his free hand to the back of Dean’s neck. He kicked off his shoes, then started walking backwards, pulling Dean with him, doing his best to keep kissing where he could. Dean did his best to remove his boots without falling over, using Cas to keep himself upright.

They were part way down the corridor leading to the spare bedroom where Gabriel was passed out when Cas released Dean’s jeans to fumble for a door handle. He pushed the door open, then pulled Dean through with him. He closed the door a little louder than Dean would have liked - he didn’t want Gabriel to wake up and interrupt them, and he was about to say so, when Cas pushed him against this door and started kissing him again and all thoughts melted away.

Cas started undoing Dean’s belt, somehow needing to tug at it a couple of times before he pulled it free. He reached for Dean’s fly, and a niggling thought occurred to Dean. He’d never done this before. Not with a dude.

At that moment, Cas had successfully undone the button and zipper, and reached through to palm Dean’s cock through his underwear, and Dean was lost in the sensation. Cas moved back to Dean’s neck and started sucking what Dean thought might become a fairly impressive hickey, and Dean groaned in pleasure. Cas used his free hand to push Dean’s jeans down. Dean grabbed the back of Cas’s head and pulled him a little rougher than he’d intended to kiss him again, but apparently Cas liked it as he started kissing more feverishly and made small moaning noises in the back of his throat.

Cas let go of Dean’s erection, and Dean heard himself whine at the loss. Cas pulled back and smirked at him, his eyes sparkling with lust. Maintaining eye contact, he leant down and licked roughly over Dean’s nipple. Dean’s head shot back, cracking against the door with a dull thud. He was quickly distracted from the pain when Cas pressed back against him, latching his mouth over Dean’s nipple and sucking it into his mouth. After a few seconds, he kissed his way across Dean’s chest and focused his attention on the other, his hand coming up to pinch the one he’d just left.

Dean let out a loud cry, then put one of his hands over his mouth to try and stifle any sounds. Cas seemingly hadn’t noticed, or it didn’t bother him, as he kept up his ministrations, rolling his hips.

Castiel moved both hands down to Dean’s boxers, then quickly pulled them down. With one final, gentle lick to the now hard and red nub, he started bending further down to kiss a line downwards. He dropped to his knees, pulling Dean’s clothes until his jeans and underwear were around his ankles. Dean quickly stepped out of them, then Cas threw them off to one side.

He sat and looked at Dean for a moment, eyes travelling up and down, biting his lip. Dean looked down at him, nerves starting to fill him again. He didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t exactly a virgin, but this was different and he knew it. What if Cas realised and didn’t want to do it anymore? What if Dean wasn’t any good at it? What if-

Cas had pounced forwards like a cat, then, keeping his eyes locked with Dean’s, slowly licked a stripe from Dean’s balls to the head of his cock. Dean’s hips jerked forwards, and he put both hands on the door behind him to steady himself. Cas smirked again, and kept looking at Dean. His gaze was heated, intense, studious; and it was driving Dean insane. Cas ran his tongue in a circle around the head, then took it into his mouth and almost kissed it. It felt incredible. The touches were hot and wet and teasing; just enough pressure to raise Dean’s desire, but not quite as much as he wanted.

Cas took Dean’s length in hand, then started stroking - again, just enough pressure to feel good but remain teasing; not quite fast enough for what Dean wanted. Dean tried to move his hips to indicate what he wanted, but then Cas’s free hand came up and pinned his hip to the door. Cas then closed his eyes, and swallowed down until his mouth met where his hand ended. He moved maddeningly slowly, and the juxtaposition of that with the gorgeous sight of Cas sucking him off made Dean think he was going to explode if he didn’t get more soon.

He reached his hand round to the back of Cas’s head and grabbed a handful of his hair again, tugging gently. Cas moaned around his cock, and Dean tried to push his head a little harder to no avail. He focused instead on carding a hand through Cas’s hair, pulling occasionally. Cas made a few more appreciative noises, then took his hand from Dean’s hip. He pulled his mouth off, his lips fuller and redder than before, still moving his hand up and down Dean’s length. He pushed in between Dean’s legs, and Dean moved them slightly apart. Cas started massaging Dean’s balls, his eyes searching Dean’s face. Dean closed his eyes, his mouth slightly open, his breathing loud and ragged. After a few moments, Cas swapped his hands around. Dean smirked to himself - clearly, Cas didn’t jack off enough if he was already getting tired.

He then felt two of Cas’s fingers starting to move further back, and he tensed a little. He’d only had fingers in his ass once - Rhonda Hurley, his friend-with-benefits who had helped him explore some kinky shit that he’d loved but never felt comfortable talking about - and he didn’t know if that was what he wanted.

Cas’s fingers pressed down before he reached Dean’s entrance, and Dean had to put a hand over his mouth again to keep from crying out. He had no idea what it was that Cas was touching, but it was intense and incredible and Dean’s vision was white behind his eyes. He felt Cas’s mouth move back over his dick, a little harder and faster this time, and Dean’s hand left Cas’s head to hold the door again to keep himself steady.

In the bedroom, Dean prided himself on two things above all: first, keeping control of himself, allowing him to take control of the encounter and blow the girl’s mind. Second, his stamina. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, so his refractory period wasn’t what it was, but he could keep going for a few hours if he wanted. Cas was ruining these conceptions.

He’d been taking control of the situation from the start, pushing Dean around, making the first move, doing most of the touching - and Dean _loved_ it. The thought occurred to him of giving over control to Cas completely, and he moaned again into his hand. His hips starting making small thrusting movements, pushing him a little further into Cas’s mouth, and Cas didn’t stop him. Cas then took his hand away from the point behind Dean’s balls, and reached down and stuck his hand down his slacks. He swept his tongue around the head again, and Dean gripped harder at the door.

Amazing though it felt, he was starting to get worried that this would be over soon if he didn’t stop. He let himself enjoy the show for a short while, Cas’s eyes closed, making soft groans of pleasure, one hand jacking up and down Dean and the other starting to move quite fast against his own cock. The rhythm against Dean started getting more erratic, the sounds Cas was making were getting louder, and Dean could start to feel the heat building in his groin, threatening to push him over the edge.

“Cas,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse. Cas moaned, the hand in his pants moving faster still. “Cas,” he said again, a little more steadily, and he pushed Cas’s forehead back gently. Cas pulled his mouth back and looked up at Dean, his mouth still slightly parted, panting. His hair was a mess, and he looked like he was starting to lose some of the composure his employees admired in him so much. His hands kept moving.

“This, _oh_ , I’m not gonna last if you keep - _ohh_ ,” Cas had squeezed him a little harder and was twisting slightly on the upward movement. Cas bit his already slightly puffy lip, then looked at Dean’s cock, and he started slowing down. After a few seconds, he stopped moving, then he licked around the head once again, and Dean’s knees almost buckled. Cas gave a small laugh, then took his hand out of his pants and stood up.

“Then let’s move this to the bed,” Cas said, and _God_ his voice sounded rougher than before, and it shot straight to Dean’s dick, which was throbbing at the loss of touch.

Cas took his hand and led him over to the double bed in the corner, then he pushed Dean down onto it. He stood for a moment, eyes raking hungrily over Dean’s naked form, lingering a little on the erection which curved slightly towards his navel. He quickly removed his own pants and underwear, and Dean finally got a look at him naked.

He had exactly the kind of build Dean had always tried to pretend he wasn’t ogling in the guys in porn. Lean but not overly muscular, he was clearly in great shape. His skin was pale, and Dean wanted to get his hands on it. Cas’s erection stood straight out, and as he got closer to Dean, Dean realised that Cas was pretty well endowed. He wasn’t unhappy with his own length, but Cas’s was just big enough that it made him both jealous and incredibly horny. Cas’s just seemed a little heavier, a little longer, a little thicker; and Dean was suddenly struck with fear - he’d never had more than a couple of fingers inside him before. Part of him wanted Cas inside him, but he’d walked funny for a day or two after his trysts with Rhonda, and this was always the part he’d avoided thinking about - he’d been suppressing his feelings towards men so much that when he had allowed himself to think about it, he’d always imagined himself topping. What if Cas didn’t want that? Would he be opposed to it?

“Dean?” Cas asked softly, stopping his approach. He had his knees just behind Dean’s thighs, his hands either side of Dean’s waist. He’d been crawling upwards to get over Dean. “Are you okay?”

Dean propped himself up on his elbows, unsure how to respond. He looked away from Cas, thinking.

“If...if you’ve...changed your mind, I don’t want you to-”

“No, I haven’t,” Dean interrupted him, wanting to reassure him. “I just, I. I haven’t...Well, I have, but not...with a dude, I…” Cas’s eyes opened slightly in shock.

“Oh,” he said simply.

“Yeah,” said Dean.

Cas sat back on his legs. Dean looked over at him, his eyes travelling down to Cas’s dick again. He wanted...something. It was hard to articulate, and the alcohol and desire in his system weren’t helping.

“But you have with girls, yes?” Cas asked, the faintest trace of an accent coming through in the way Cas said ‘with girls’, making Dean grunt with desire.

“Yeah.”

At that, Cas got off the bed, going over to his bedside cabinet. This gave Dean a good look at his ass, and Dean couldn’t keep his eyes off it. He’d expected it to be flatter than a girl’s, but it wasn’t, and he wanted nothing more than to get his hands on it. He was still unsure how to proceed, but he knew that he had to do _something_ to stop himself from exploding.

Cas rummaged through the top drawer, then pulled out a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms. Unconsciously, Dean licked his lips. Cas shoved the drawer closed, then got on the bed at the head, laying down on the pillows.

“How about you go inside me, then?” he asked, and Dean moaned in response, turning to crawl towards Cas. He’d been intending to make out with Cas again, but changed his mind and starting running his hands over Cas’s chest and belly, peppering him with kisses. Copying what he would have done with a woman, he carefully bit Cas’s nipple, then started gently stroking the inside of one of his thighs.

“ _Oh_ ,” said Cas, his hands threading into the pillows above him. Smiling a little to himself, Dean gave another few sucks, then moved himself above Cas’s cock.

He paused. This was new territory for him, and Cas had been _so_ good, he didn’t want to disappoint.

“Dean, you don’t have to,” Cas smiled, “I really don’t - AH!” He shouted the last word as Dean took him in his mouth and sank down as far as he could go without gagging. He tasted musky, but not unpleasant. Dean licked the precome from the slit, then copied Cas’s technique and ran his tongue over the head. Cas’s back arched off the bed, and he turned his head to push his face into the pillow. He could hear faint noises Cas was making, and chose to believe that Cas was trying to stop himself crying out again.

He started moving his head up and down, taking the rest of Cas’s cock in one hand and pulling and tugging his balls with the other. Cas’s feet started moving, trying to stabilise himself, his hips moving in time with Dean’s rhythm. Dean added a little more pressure, and Cas pushed a pillow harder into his face.

After a couple of minutes, Dean realised why many girls hadn’t wanted to do this to him for long. His jaw was starting to hurt. He increased the pressure again, then Cas started pushing his shoulder backwards.

“Too much,” he said, still writhing around. Dean took his mouth off, then started pumping slowly, like Cas had done before.

“Sorry,” he said, kissing gently at the base. Cas laughed. Dean looked up at him and asked, “What?”

“You. Apologising.” His head fell back against the pillows with a soft grunt. “Are you quite sure you’ve never done that before?”

“I think I’d remember that, Cas,” said Dean, laughing. He twisted a little harder on the upstroke, which wiped the smile off Cas’s face. Dean smiled, proud of himself for not totally messing it up.

“We need to - _uh_ \- need to get ready,” Cas said, patting around next to him. His hand made contact with the bottle, and he held it out to Dean.

“Uh,” said Dean, staring at it. He had a vague idea what he needed to do, but doing it was an entirely different matter. Cas merely smirked at him, then twisted the cap and pumped some onto his fingers. He then threw the bottle to one side, and reached down under Dean’s hand, looking into Dean’s eyes as he did so. He circled two fingers around his rim, biting his lip, then pushed the tip of one digit inside with a soft hiss. He paused for a few seconds, then pushed slowly in, his eyes closing tight a couple of times. He stopped, breathing heavily, then carefully withdrew a little before moving back in. After doing this a few times, he seemed to visibly relax. Dean realised his hand had stopped moving and started back up, but Cas used his free hand to bat him away.

“Don’t want to risk it,” said Cas, his voice breathy, and Dean swallowed. He stroked the inside of Cas’s thighs to give himself something to do, his hips moving against the bed to get a little friction. Cas seemed to notice him doing this, as he blearily followed the movement with his gaze, mouth slightly open. His hand started moving a little faster, and Dean couldn’t look away.

After a few minutes, Cas slowed down, then added another finger, eyes squeezed shut again. Dean frowned. Cas looked uncomfortable.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Mmm,” Cas said, drawing the sound out, opening his legs wider so that Dean could get a better view. Cas pulled out for a moment, applying more lube to his fingers, some of it dripping onto the covers. He dropped the bottle, feverishly moving to get back inside himself. Dean couldn’t take it anymore. He propped himself up on one arm and shifted a little onto his knees, freeing his cock enough to get his hand around it.

Cas’s head lifted when he felt Dean move, his heated gaze following Dean’s arm. When Dean started touching himself in earnest, Cas moaned loudly, angling his wrist to allow his fingers to get deeper inside. Dean’s eyes snapped back to Cas’s ministrations, mouth slightly open.

“Enjoying the show?” Cas asked. Dean couldn’t form words, merely moaning in response. “Mmm. Thought you’d like that.” Dean shifted on his elbow to stop himself from falling, starting to move in time with Cas’s hand. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me,” he said, and Dean groaned, closing his eyes and moving his forehead to rest against Cas’s thigh. He could still feel Cas working inside himself. He felt something cold and plastic against his head, and he looked at it, trying not to look at Cas’s hand. He could vaguely see that Cas had moved his fingers further apart, and Dean had to slow down to make sure he didn’t go too far. He focused on what had poked his head, and he saw that Cas’s other hand was pushing a condom packet at him.

He sat up, taking the packet from Cas, tearing it open as carefully as he could manage. He took it out, discarding the packet in the general direction of the floor. It felt a little thicker than the ones he was used to, but given what he was planning to do, that was probably for the best. He rolled it on with shaking hands, then looked to Cas for instructions.

Under normal circumstances, he would probably have been embarrassed to admit that he didn’t know what he was doing, but the look he got from Cas made him forget all about being self-conscious. Cas removed his fingers with a small whine, then shifted himself into the middle of the bed. He picked up the lubricant, then took his time slathering a generous amount onto Dean’s dick. When Cas let go, Dean positioned himself above Cas, surprised that Cas was laying on his back. He wasn’t complaining - this way, he could watch Cas’s face.

Dean used both hands to make sure he was in the right place, then rubbed the head of his cock against Cas’s hole. Cas was on his elbows, craning his neck to watch when Dean finally entered him. A shiver of anticipation ran down Dean’s spine, but he held off entering. Cas was panting, and Dean saw his dick twitch a couple of times. He wanted to draw this out.

“You sure you’re ready for me?” Dean asked, still using himself to move around Cas’s rim.

“ _Yes_ ,” said Cas, his voice ragged. He moved his hips pointedly. “Come on.”

“Come on, what?” Dean asked, his voice teasing. He wanted to hear Cas say it.

“ _Please_.”

“Please what, sweetheart?” Sweetheart? Where had _that_ come from? Cas moaned, not seeming to mind it.

“Fuck me, please, I’m ready!”

“That’s better,” said Dean, and he pushed in as far as he dared with one swift movement. Cas’s arms seemed to give out from under him, and he fell back onto the bed. Dean stayed still, searching Cas’s face for any hint of pain. He waited a few moments.

“Are you going to make me beg?” Cas pushed himself down pointedly.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” said Dean, concerned. He knew that it took time to adjust.

“I’ll tell you if it hurts, just _please move_!”

Dean didn’t need any further persuasion. Carefully, he pressed forwards until he was all the way inside. He started making shallow thrusts, adjusting himself to the unfamiliar sensation.

“Fuck Cas, so tight,” he breathed, gripping onto Cas’s hips. Cas grabbed his cock in one hand, his other threading through the pillows above his head. He starting making consistent little grunts and moans, his back arching slightly off the bed, his eyes fluttering closed. Dean thought it might be the hottest thing he’d ever seen. He started moving faster, pushing Cas down with each thrust. Dean’s breathing was getting loud.

Cas opened his eyes to look at Dean. “You like this?” he asked, sounding more controlled than Dean felt he had a right to, “You like being inside me? Watching me touch myself for you?”

Dean couldn’t manage more than a grunt in response. He held on tighter to Cas’s hips and pushed him down harder onto his cock.

“Oh, _yes_ ,” said Cas, his hand moving faster on himself. “Fuck. You feel so good.”

Dean groaned, feeling the heat rising and pooling in his groin. He was getting close, and he _should_ slow down to draw this out; but the all he could think was _wantyessogoodgonnacome_.

“Not much of a talker now, are you?” Cas said teasingly, smirking at Dean again. “You were so bossy a second ago. Fucking me must - oh _Gott yes_ \- must feel _so good_ .” Cas’s heated gaze ran over all the parts of Dean he could see, and he licked his lips - whether consciously or unconsciously, he got the effect he wanted. Dean slammed into him as hard as he could a few times, forgetting all about being quiet. “Holy sh- _there, right there_ , again - _oh!_ ” Cas cried, his hand becoming a blur.

“Don’t stop,” Cas continued, eyes pressing closed, “ _please_ don’t stop.”

“Wanna see those eyes,” Dean managed to pant out. Cas’s eyes snapped open and found Dean’s.

“You wanna watch me come?” Cas asked, and holy hell Dean wouldn’t have guessed that Cas would have such a dirty mouth, but it was rapidly making him lose control. “You want to see what you do to me, don’t you? Hear me scream your name?” He opened his legs even wider, moaning loudly. “ _There_ , please, _there, yes!_ ” He did almost scream the last part.

Dean pressed his hips down into the bed and started pounding into him, chasing the orgasm that he knew was near. He thought he could probably just about hold off until Cas came, but not much longer.

“ _Oh_ , Cas, _fuck_!” Dean could feel sweat starting to trickle down his back and his arms were starting to shake, but he didn’t stop, didn’t slow down.

“Think I’m gonna come soon,” Cas said, between groans, “gonna come on your cock. Want you to watch me.”

“ _Cas!_ ”

“Been _so hard_ to last this long, but I’m your - ah _ah_ \- your first. Want to be good for you.” He sounded as though he wasn’t quite aware he was speaking, his words slurring, his voice getting higher. “So gorgeous, so _fucking_ good, need _more_ , want _more, fuck, please, oh, oh, oh -”_ Cas’s eyes widened and his mouth opened but almost no sound came out. His breathing was ragged. “Oh, _God, Dean!_ ” As promised, he screamed Dean’s name as he came, spurts of come painting up his chest. He continued pumping himself, slowing down until eventually letting his hand drop, eyes closed.

Dean pressed forwards, moving his arms to Cas’s sides. He could feel Cas’s softening erection pressed into his belly, felt sticky ejaculate being rubbed into his chest - the fact that this turned him on was a thought for another time. He captured Cas’s mouth with his, kissing desperately as he hammered down. Vaguely, he thought perhaps he should be more gentle if he wanted a round two, but the sensation was too good to stop, and the way Cas was still making noises of pleasure under him urged him on. All too soon - or was it not soon enough? - a wave curled in his groin, building behind his balls until it finally crashed out of him, and Dean was gripping his arms tight around Cas, shouting his release into the other man’s mouth.

Cas’s hand moved to Dean’s head as Dean slowed, running his nails gently over Dean’s scalp. Dean came to a stop, but he wasn’t ready to stop touching. He deepened the kiss, their tongues sliding around each other’s. Dean ran a thumb over one of Cas’s nipples, earning himself a blissful, “Mmm,” but he carried on stroking gently down Cas’s side, eventually hitching Cas’s leg over his hip. He wriggled his hand between them, then stroked gently over Cas’s spent dick, his own giving a half-hearted twitch of interest when Cas moaned and wrapped his other leg around Dean.

Dean continued gently touching Cas, feeling both of them starting to harden again, the sensation overwhelming and incredible. He moved his attention to Cas’s neck, where he bit down and started to suck.

“Fuck,” said Cas softly. Dean started kissing and laving around Cas’s collarbone.

Dean hadn’t realised that he had started gently thrusting until Cas put his hands on Dean’s hips to hold him steady.

“Not yet,” he breathed into Dean’s ear. “Need a break.” He licked a stripe up Dean’s neck, then carefully pushed Dean’s hips back. Dean groaned at the sensation of pulling out. His dick was valiantly trying to fill again, but Cas was right. If they wanted another orgasm, they were just going to have to wait.

He sat back, pulling the condom off, then looking around for the trashcan. Cas held out his hand, and Dean handed it to him. Cas looked around on the floor, then reached for the discarded wrapper. He tied the end roughly then shoved it back into the packet, which he promptly dropped back where he’d found it.

Dean crawled up next to Cas, then almost fell forwards. He picked up the top of the comforter, then pushed it down with Cas’s help. They got under, and Cas immediately came over and put his head on Dean’s shoulder. He reached an arm around to hold Dean around the hip, his fingers brushing Dean’s sensitive dick. Dean jumped in surprise.

“Whoops,” said Cas, deadpan.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll show you ‘whoops’,” said Dean, putting his arms around Cas to pull him closer.

“Is that a promise?” Cas asked, his eyes twinkling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I suddenly realised I wanted to add porn, so I edited the tags accordingly. Were we expecting that?
> 
> Verdammt nochmal - Dammit
> 
> Dienst ist Dienst und Schnaps ist Schnaps - Work is work and schnapps is schnapps (basically, keep your work and personal lives separate)


End file.
